WomanPrayers : Prayers by Women from throughout History and Around the World

M A R Y

F O R D - G R A B O W S K Y

WOMANPRAYERS P r a y e r s b y Wo m e n Throughout Histor y a n d A r o u n d t h e Wo r l d

For four generations of women in my family, with love and admiration: Rosa Reissman Grabowsky Karin Sanders Sharon Smith and Bianka Wooten Kasey and Bailey Smith, Shelby and Megan Wooten

C O N T E N T S

T H A N K S / xii

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C H A P T E R

1

Finding Myself

1

The Way of the Three Steps: A Native American Way to Begin the Day José Hobday F The Truth About Myself Macrina Wiederkehr How Could I Reject Who I Am? Mechtild of Magdeburg F Lord of Healing Alison Pepper F The Monk Stood Beside a Wheelbarrow Jane Hirshfield F Listen Linda Lancione Moyer Gestalt at Sixty May Sarton F Wild longing in my eyes Lalleshwari Prayer Lisa Colt F Prelude to The Dance Oriah Mountain Dreamer Grace for My Twenty-Fifth Year Maggie Tuteur F Handicaps Helen Keller The Well Denise Levertov F Order of Melchizedek Dorothy Walters Bonsai Jane Hirshfield F I Was Obsessed Nandutarra Our deepest fear Marianne Williamson F Lord, not you Denise Levertov Blessed Are You Margaret Cessna, H.M. F Be Who You Are Marcia Falk It is by seeking Anandamayi Ma F O Lord, One tiny bit of water Ishpriya, RSCJ

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2

The Mother Line

19

Pastoral Rita Dove F The Boston School of Cooking Cookbook Rhona McAdam F I Have So Much I Can Teach Her Maya Angelou F The Meaning of Bones Megan Sexton F The Tablecloth Christina Hutchins Dying at 31 Rose of Lima F Source Maggie Tuteur F Oh, God, thank you for the child I carry Marjorie Holmes F To Jacqueline, Age 2, in Her Great-Grandmother’s House Kathleen Norris F Cost of Living Anne-Marie Madden Irwin F Prayer for Easy Labor Rabbi Geela Rayzel Raphael F Consecration Andrea O’Brien F 35/10 Sharon Olds to dance at your daughter’s wedding Naomi Ruth Lowinsky F Gift from My Mother Betty McAfee F Your Clothes Judy Kroll F To Elvira, My Maternal Grandmother Patricia Carlson F The Turning Point Jeanine Hathaway F What Came to Me Source unknown F The Power in My Mother’s Arms Florence Weinberger F Chains of Fire Elsa Gidlow Mother of Mothers Naomi Ruth Lowinsky C H A P T E R

3

Gathering Our Inner Strengths

45

Letting Go Stephanie Kaza F A Cedary Fragrance Jane Hirshfield Self-Giving Simone Weil F Three times each day Andal F From Self-Consciousness to Happiness Marion Milner F Learning to Grow

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Kate Compston F May you be drenched with the longing for peace Hildegard of Bingen F The Last Story Starhawk F As I light these Sabbath candles Anonymous, Jewish F In Pain Mechtild of Magdeburg Buddhist Vow Stephanie Kaza F Moments of Real Grace Oriah Mountain Dreamer F Life in Ravensbruck Corrie Ten Boom F Women Who Light Lives Joanne Seltzer F Purnima Judy Kroll F We see you Joy Harjo F How can you go on sleeping Andal F Breakdown Rosalind M. Baker F I Taught Myself to Live Simply Anna Akhmatova God Alone Suffices Teresa of Avila F May the Blessing of Rain Be on You Anonymous, Celtic C H A P T E R

4

Finding Heaven in Mother Earth

61

A vein of sapphires Mahadevi F Sow in me your living breath Kadya Molodowsky F His Heart Shone Right Out of His Eyes Louise Erdrich Play in this universe Anne Hillman F The Seven Directions José Hobday The little cares Elizabeth Barrett Browning F Earth Teach Me Nancy Wood F The Holy may speak to you Rachel Naomi Remen The Sapphire Denise Levertov F How Should I Fear to Die? Teresa Hooley F The Stars Simone Weil F The mountain Anonymous, Navajo The Sacred Berry José Hobday F This Island, This Season Alicia Hokanson F I know I am made from this earth Susan Griffin Spiritual Life Hildegard of Bingen

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I think everything and everyone slept that afternoon Meinrad Craighead How shall I begin my song Owl Woman F Earth is crammed with heaven Elizabeth Barrett Browning F The Prayer of the Cat Carmen Bernos de Gasztold F My Lord, Lord of the mountain grove Andal and how could anyone believe Mary Oliver C H A P T E R

5

For All Our Needs

75

Ti Prego M. P. A. Sheaffer F God our Mother, Living Water Medical Mission Sisters F A Prayer for Spiritual Teachers Nancy Steinbeck Brigid’s Feast Brigid of Kildare Abbey F Give Me Someone Anonymous, Japan F Different Ways to Pray Naomi Shihab Nye F May I be free from danger Anonymous, Buddhist F Open our eyes to see our own part Angela Ashwin F Help in Old Age from the Mother Barbara Gibson F Make us ready, Lord Mother Teresa of Calcutta F Prayer for Village Earth Sharon Auberle F Prayer for Beauty Changing Woman Prayer for a Child While Listening to Rachmaninoff Sharon Auberle Prayer for Wellness Maria Cristina Gonzalez Metta Prayer Maylie Scott

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At Work

6

91

A Zen Prayer for Preparing a Meal: How to Stuff a Pepper Nancy Willard Kalighat Anita Mathias F You Can Also Pray While You Work Mother Teresa of Calcutta F A Pediatrician’s Prayer for Perfection Jan Steckel, M.D. F What Must I Do? Bishop Barbara Clementine Harris F Litany of Sorrow for Denying Women Authority Anonymous, Anglican F Litany of Blessing for a Woman Taking Authority Anonymous, Anglican F I saw God in an instant of time Julian of Norwich F My Poems Nita Penfold F Prayer Before Work May Sarton F Lord of all the world Anonymous, Jewish Cleaning Rice Ruth Fogelman F Too Much to Do Teresa of Avila Radiating Pain Jan Steckel, M.D. F May there always be work Anonymous, Celtic F Doing the Best We Can Helen Keller The Great Work Gertrude of Helfta F Go Forward Securely Clare of Assisi C H A P T E R

7

Grateful for Everything

107

Magnificat Christina Hutchins F Unexpected Blessings Anonymous, Native American F To Sing Is to Praise Joan Baez Faithfulness Teresa of Avila F For the Darkness Anonymous,

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Anglican F To Our First Grandmother Anonymous, Mohawk Gratitude Rosemary Partridge F Celtic Thanksgiving Anonymous All you clear and shimmering waters Pat Corrick Hinton F Thank you, my dear Mary Bernard F Theology Jane Hirshfield Thank You Anne Lamott F I Arise Today Brigid of Kildare Abbey The Flowers Betty McAfee F Praise to You Spirit of Fire! Hildegard of Bingen F Give Thanks for Everything Eileen Caddy C H A P T E R

8

Out of Darkness

123

Mother Wisdom Speaks Christine Lore Webber F Why Do You Hide Yourself? Concepcion Cabrera de Armida F Dear God, it is so hard Monica Furlong F Passing the Refugee Camp Naomi Shihab Nye For Victims of War and Refugees Janet Morley F Lament for September 11, 2001 Barbara Gibson F The Next Day: 9/12/01 Anne-Marie Madden Irwin F For the 500th Dead Palestinian: Ibtisam Bozieh Naomi Shihab Nye F In the Cemetery of Your City: Israel, March 6, 2002 Ruth Fogelman F What Is Happening Dorothy Walters Prayer from Auschwitz Etty Hillesum F Bodhi Regina Sara Ryan Troparion Kassiane F Not Without Longing Karen Benke F In the morning Linda S. Boerstler F I saw you in the doorway Miriam Therese Winter F From moment to moment Teresa of Avila

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May the angel of God make smooth the road Anonymous, Celtic Psalms of a Laywoman Edwina Gately There is a Brokenness Rashani C H A P T E R

9

Our Spiritual and Mystical Experience

143

Preparing to Greet the Goddess Dorothy Walters F Fire in Water Fiona Davidson F As a silkworm weaves Mahadevi F you Naomi Ruth Lowinsky F The desert waits Ruth Burgess F Enter and penetrate Madeleine L’Engle F The Sacredness of Time Mary FordGrabowsky F Speak and Write What You See and Hear! Hildegard of Bingen F Dangerous Prayers Regina Sara Ryan F Clea—La Chanson de Ma Mie’ Michelle Lynn Ryan F The silence is all there is Annie Dillard F Oh God, whose true nature I cannot know Phoebe Phelps F With Your Light Source unknown F When We Stumble and Find It Dorothy Walters F Mahakranti: The Endtime Michelle Lynn Ryan F Invocation to the Light, December 2001 Stephanie Marohn F I come in the little things Evelyn Underhill God Everywhere Anonymous, Celtic F God is Edith Sodergran Beautiful One Janine Canan F A Way In Marianne Williamson A Thousand Ways Dorothy Walters

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Love

10

165

and you held me Janet Morley F Black and White Blessing Christina Hutchins F Balada Gabriela Mistral F I am watching all the roads Mahadevi F Between Words Karen Benke F Do you ever wonder Alice Walker F And so it came Irina Tweedie F A long time I have lived with you Nancy Wood F First Passion Maggie Tuteur One must go down Anita Mathias F To Aphrodite Sappho Who Will Teach Me Now? Anne-Marie Madden Irwin F The Soul in Love Beatrice of Nazareth F My Book Was Begun in Love Mechtild of Magdeburg F You Have Come, My Beloved Tinh Thuy F No Words At All, Just Love Irina Tweedie F Mira Speaks to Her Lord Mirabai A Dying Grandfather’s Prayer Rachel Naomi Remen F To Be an Island in the Sea Anonymous, Scotland F In this still moment, Lord Anonymous, New Zealand F Cold Anne-Marie Madden Irwin F I Am My Beloved’s Anonymous, Song of Songs F All She Needed That Day Anne-Marie Madden Irwin F To what shall I liken you, Lord? Mariam Baouardy INDEX OF AUTHORS AND SOURCES

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INDEX OF TITLES OR FIRST LINES

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189

PERMISSIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE EDITOR

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About the Author Credits Cover Copyright About the Publisher

T H A N K S

Boundless thanks to an incomparable agent, Tom Grady, who brings not only professional giftedness to his work, but also grace and integrity. To the wonderful people at HarperSanFrancisco my deepest possible gratitude, especially John Loudon: a brilliant editor; Kris Ashley: a center of calm and warmth in the writing-publishing maelstrom, a blessing to work with, and Jim Warner: the artist’s artist. And to the outstanding poets and writers who sent me prayers and poems for this book, heartfelt thanks: Sharon Auberle, Karen Benke, Linda S. Boerstler, Janine Canan, Patricia Carlson, Sister Margaret Cessna, H.M., Ruth Fogelman, Barbara Gibson, Maria Cristina Gonzalez, Jeanine Hathaway, Jane Hirshfield, José Hobday, Christina Hutchins, Anne-Marie Madden Irwin, Judy Kroll, Naomi Ruth Lowinsky, Stephanie Marohn, Betty McAfee, Rosemary Partridge, Nita Penfold, Phoebe Phelps, Michelle Lynn Ryan, Regina Sara Ryan, Starhawk, Jan Steckel, Nancy Steinbeck, Maggie Tuteur, Dorothy Walters, Miriam Therese Winter. To my lifetime partner, Axel L. Grabowsky, my most loving thanks.

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A WINDOW ON THE INFINITE

Three years ago, when my daughter was in her final year of medical school, I was casually looking at her medical instruments one day and asked her how to use them. She handed me her ophthalmoscope (for eye examinations), and explained that focussing it is quite difficult at first but eventually I would see a plain white disk in the middle of the eye. Holding the ophthalmoscope to her eye, I looked through the haze for a long time seeing nothing—then suddenly was amazed by something beautiful and holy. At the center of the eye there was a small sphere of blazing white light, blindingly beautiful. Thousands of sparkling rays flashed in every direction like diamonds, and beyond the diamond light was a glowing bloody background. I felt I was looking into Life itself, seeing the brightest and most beautiful dimensions along with the pain and suffering. A deep insight of the medieval Rhineland mystic, Meister Eckhart, came to mind: “The eye with which I see God is the eye with which God sees me.” I was literally seeing through the eye into Divine Reality. I knew without doubt that what I had always believed was true, that our lives are grounded in a Life so holy and incomprehensible that no words

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can convey the awe of a face-to-face encounter. I understood why a scriptural verse says, “You cannot see God and live,” while another says that “Moses saw God face to face.” Like all mystery and miracles, knowing the Divine is both possible and impossible, the ultimate paradox. During most of my life, teaching and writing about Divine Mystery, I have carefully avoided using the word “God,” resorting to epithets such as “the Ground of Being,” “the Wholly Other,” the “Holy One,” the “Beyond-in-our-Midst.” I had taken to heart a suggestion of one of the great religious writers of the twentieth century, Paul Tillich, who wrote at mid-century that we in the West should bury the word “God” for fifty years—and use those years to recover the full meaning of the word. To me this meant reuniting the female aspects of the Divine with the male aspects, bringing the immanent, motherly presence of God into full relationship with fatherly transcendence; recovering our lost women mystics; and restoring to Western civilization the experience of mystical love that three centuries of scientific materialism had suppressed. Fifty years have now elapsed since Tillich’s prophetic remark and “God” is rapidly returning, with a vastly expanded meaning. We now know about the motherhood of God and happily, religions are recovering their lost spiritualities. Four thousand years of sacred writings by women all over the world have been rediscovered and published (as in my book Sacred Voices), and mystics of both sexes from East and West have re-educated us about the beauty, joys, and rewards of selfgiving love.

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M E E T I N G G O D I N T H E I. C. U.

Recently, my daughter e-mailed me about an experience in the Intensive Care Unit that shows how even the long-resistant scientific world is meeting God. Here is what she said: Friends always ask me, “What is your worst experience as a doctor?” The bloodiest, the most tragic, the most difficult? Strange, this human passion for extremes. But admittedly, my life as a doctor is all about extremes. I walk into people’s lives every day. I walk further with them in thirty minutes than most of their loved ones do in a lifetime. I ask about disease, I ask about drugs, I ask about sex, I ask about abuse. Almost everyone answers without question and, I am convinced, without misrepresentation. I have recently started asking them about Faith. I wish that someone would ask me the one question I’d really like to answer: “What is your holiest experience as a doctor?” I could tell them about Clara, an 87-year-old woman I took care of three years ago. She had been healthy all her life, but now her five children took shifts in a round-the-clock vigil by her bed. I remember vividly removing yellow-pink fluid from her lung while her daughter, Elena, held her hand and quietly talked her through all 47 minutes of the procedure, which I’m sure was much longer for Clara than for me.

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I saw her every morning before rounds without knowing how much I cared. Perhaps I became too attached, as I wasn’t prepared when “code blue, room 137” suddenly sounded overhead. I ran as fast as I could to her room, the sixteenth person on the team to arrive. Although Clara was a “DNR” (Do Not Resuscitate), Elena was screaming: “Do something, do anything, we’re not ready, we’re not all here.” A sister from Mexico hadn’t yet arrived. Clara was in a coma with massive brain damage, fixed and dilated eyes, and no chance of reawakening. But we restarted her heart, then transferred her to the ICU. Her heart stopped three more times before Anna arrived. One minute after Anna entered Clara’s room, she came running back down the corridor calling to the family in the waiting room that Clara had opened her eyes and was writing a note. Doctors and nurses stood with the family transfixed as the impossible occurred. Clara slowly scrawled: “Take out the tube.” “We can’t. You’ll die.” “I know.” “Are you sure?” “I miss Dad. It’s my time.” The family heeded her wishes. Afterward, the neurologist told them that he couldn’t explain how Clara had woken up. Medically speaking, it shouldn’t have happened; we don’t have the power.

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I have experienced so many holy events in the hospital that it is hard to say which was the holiest. This certainly was one of them. HOW TO USE THIS BOOK

This book contains 202 of the most beautiful prayers and prayerful poems that I have found in many, many years of searching. They are all by women, and I have gathered them on these pages in the hope that each of them—like my experience with the ophthalmoscope and my daughter’s in the ICU—will open a window on the Infinite for you. Their contents celebrate woman’s spirit of love and joy; our resilience; our relationships with friends, family, and the wider world; our work; and many of the sacred arts that women enjoy in all cultures and across time—such as prayer-writing, sewing, cooking, peace-making, healing, and consoling. The art of seeing the Unbroken in the broken is presented on every page. I would like to make a few suggestions for using this book as a powerful prayer-practice. In essence there are three steps: First, create a sacred space just for prayer in the quietest area of your home where no interruptions will occur and you can have a flower on a table near you, or a candle or incense burning, perhaps a sacred object that you love. Choose a time for the practice as early in the day as possible. Begin by setting a timer for anywhere from five minutes to a halfhour. Have a small pad of paper and a pencil on the table for writing down in a few words any distracting thoughts that come to mind; this

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way you will be able to let go of mental interruptions. Sit in a comfortable position, then close your eyes while slowly taking three long, deep breaths. Now open the book to the table of contents and select a title that speaks to you, or choose a prayer from a favorite author listed at the back of the book; or simply open the book at random. Begin to read your selection very slowly, out loud or silently, giving yourself as much time as possible to gently savor and digest every word, every sentence, every verse. Pause frequently to enjoy each image, allowing your imagination to vividly see, hear, or touch one detail after another. For instance, the image of delicious, shining fruit in “This Island, This Season,” on pages 70–71, where the sacred is almost palpable: Gold peaches in glass and plums’ rich ruby. Black pulp of berries thickens in jars. Visualize the golden light in a ripe peach, the rich ruby light in a plum, the dark light hidden in blackberry preserve; imagine smelling each aroma, tasting the delicious sweetness all winter when snow is piled high outside. You will easily “find heaven in mother earth,” sensing how varying degrees of Divine light shine in daily experiences, including the darkest. Now you are on the path of the illumined imagination and will find yourself slowly, gently sinking into the most sacred space in your soul.

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Return to the beginning of the prayer and begin reading it again, this time pausing each time you feel inspired or wish to reflect. Perhaps you will find yourself thinking about the long generations of women who have preserved fruit at harvest time. If you wish, write down a word or two that will remind you during the day of the insights you gain during this stage of your practice. Be aware that you are journeying on the truest path to-and-in God; that your body-awakening and mindopening allows the spirit to enter and penetrate every area of your life, work, and relationships; that you are called every morning to new life, the most abundant life there is. When you are ready, when you have been with the prayer for enough time and feel complete with it, close your eyes again and spend a few minutes setting the intention of your heart for the day. You may desire to use this way of praying as preparation for a longer spiritual practice. If so, follow it with silent meditation, chanting, scripture-reading, journalling, or any of the innumerable spiritual practices that the world’s great religions have been teaching for millennia. These ancient spiritual practices, like the simple prayer-practice recommended here, are thoroughly tried-and-tested, and will safely lighten your day with faith and tranquillity.* M A RY F O R D - G R A B O W S K Y * Dates of living authors are omitted, and the country of birth is omitted in the case of women born in the United States. The title of Chapter 2, “The Mother Line,” is Naomi Lowinsky’s name for the generations of women, and the title of Chapter 8, “Out of Darkness,” comes from Adriana Diaz. I am deeply grateful to them both.

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1

Finding Myself F

The Way of the Three Steps: A Native American Way to Begin the Day STAND ON MOTHER EARTH. FACE ANY DIRECTION YOU CHOOSE. (TAKE ONE STEP FORWARD, AS YOU LOOK ABOUT, UP, AND DOWN:) O Great, Holy Spirit, I take this step into the day you have given. I embrace all I see—the season, the wind, the fragrances, the weather. Let me always accept the day given with a grateful heart. (TAKE ANOTHER STEP FORWARD.) O Spirit of Life, I put my arms around myself, all that I am, all that I can be. I stand here in my own history, with all my mistakes and victories. I hold all those I will meet today, in my journeying and in my work. I try to walk gently on this earth. Let me walk gently through the lives of my work companions and friends. Though they make way for my passing, may they spring back, neither broken nor bruised. (TAKE ANOTHER STEP FORWARD.) O glorious Spirit of Mystery, I put my arms around you. I do not know what will happen to me today, but I accept it. Give me a

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heart of courage and believing, so I may put my trust in you, and fear nothing. From the Plains tribes: Native American Recorded by José Hobday

The Truth About Myself O God, help me to believe the truth about myself— no matter how beautiful it is! Macrina Wiederkehr

How Could I Reject Who I Am? A fish cannot drown in water. A bird cannot fall in the air. Gold is not dissolved in fire—for there it receives its brilliant sheen. This gift is given to everything: To live with its own nature. How could I oppose who I am? I am inclined toward God, and must go through all things into God. Mechtild of Magdeburg, Germany, c.1212–82

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M Y S E L F

Lord of Healing Lord of my greatest fear: Let in your peace. Lord of my darkest shame: Let in your grace. Lord of my oldest grudge: Let in your forgiveness. Lord of my deepest anger: Let in your love. Lord of my loneliest moment: Let in your presence. Lord of my truest self—my all: Let in your fullness. Adapted from a prayer by Alison Pepper, England

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The Monk Stood Beside a Wheelbarrow The monk stood Beside a wheelbarrow, weeping. God or Buddha nowhere to be seen— these tears were fully human, bitter, broken, falling onto the wheelbarrow’s rusty side. They gathered at its bottom, where the metal drank them in to make more rust. You cannot know what you do in this life, what you have done. I saw the weeping monk and knew I also had a place on this hard earth. Jane Hirshfield

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M Y S E L F

Listen Standing in the garden, left hand laden with ripe strawberries. The sun beams off the glassy backs of flies. Three birds in the birch tree. They must have been there all year. My mother, my grandmother, stood like this in their gardens, I am 43. This year I have planted my feet on this ground and am practicing growing up out of my legs like a tree. Linda Lancione Moyer

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Gestalt at Sixty I am moving Toward a new freedom Born of detachment, And a sweeter grace— Learning to let go. . From a poem by May Sarton

Wild longing in my eyes, I searched for myself whole days and nights. Until the Truthful One found me, right here at home. . Lalleshwari, Kashmir, fourteenth century

Prayer May we reveal our abundance without shame. May we peel back our sleeping wintery layers like snakeskins, like the silk chrysalis,

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M Y S E L F

like clothing cast off during love. May we unravel with abandon like lover’s knots before knitting ourselves back to the heart. May we settle into our own rhythms as tides do— within the borders of the moon’s calling. May the music of our souls be accompanied by grand gestures and the persistent clapping of hummingbird’s wings. From a prayer by Lisa Colt

Prelude to the Dance What if it truly doesn’t matter what you do but how you do whatever you do? How would this change what you choose to do with your life? What if you could be more present and openhearted with each person you met if you were working as a cashier in a corner store, or as a parking lot attendant, than you could if you were doing a job you think is more important? How would this change how you want to spend your precious time on this earth?

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What if your contribution to the world and the fulfillment of your own happiness is not dependant on discovering a better method of prayer or technique of meditation, not dependent upon reading the right book or attending the right seminar, but upon really seeing and deeply appreciating yourself and the world as they are right now? How would this affect your search for spiritual development? What if there is no need to change, no need to try to transform yourself into someone who is more compassionate, more present, more loving or wise? How would this affect all the places in your life where you are endlessly trying to be better? What if the task is simply to unfold, to become who you already are in your essential nature—gentle, compassionate, and capable of living fully and passionately present? How would this affect how you feel when you wake up in the morning? What if who you essentially are right now is all that you are ever going to be? How would this affect how you feel about your future?

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M Y S E L F

What if the essence of who you are and always have been is enough? How would this change how you see and feel about your past? What if the question is not why am I so infrequently the person I really want to be, but why do I so infrequently want to be the person I am? How would this change what you think you have to learn? What if becoming who and what we truly are happens not through striving and trying but by recognizing and receiving the people and places and practices that offer us the warmth of encouragement we need to unfold? How would this shape the choices you make about how to spend today? What if you knew that the impulse to move in a way that creates beauty in the world will arise from deep within and guide you every time you simply pay attention and wait? How would this shape your stillness, your movement, your willingness to follow this impulse, to just let go and dance? Oriah Mountain Dreamer

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Grace for My Twenty-Fifth Year These years, with their open grasses, have been good to me, have wintered me and brought me up through spring. The oak trees are continuous in reaching into sun. The golden bowls of harvesting I bring. I am living in the echo of a clear bell’s ring. Maggie Tuteur

Handicaps I thank God For my handicaps, For, through them, I have found myself, My work, And my God. Helen Keller, 1880–1968

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M Y S E L F

The Well It was on dark nights of deep sleep that I dreamed the most, sunk in the well, and woke rested, and if not beautiful, filled with some other power. From a poem by Denise Levertov, England, 1923–98

Order of Melchizedek Know who you are. Do not debase the name. Carry it in your heart, a root flame of love. Walk through the world in silence. The moment will come. The sign will be a soft stirring of wings, a gold shimmer of air. Dorothy Walters

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Bonsai One morning beginning to notice which thoughts pull the spirit out of the body, which return it. How quietly the abandoned body keens, like a bonsai maple surrounded by her dropped leaves. Rain or objects call the forgotten back: the droplets’ placid girth and weight; the dresser’s lack of ambition. How strange it is that longing, too, becomes a small green bud, thickening the vacant branch-length in early March. Jane Hirshfield

I Was Obsessed I used to worship the sun and the moon, adore gods, and shave my head. I took vows, and fasted after dark. I was obsessed with make-up and finery, jewelry and fragances. And then faith came.

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M Y S E L F

Now I see life as it really is. Freed from all that binds, my heart is still. Nandutarra, India, sixth to third centuries B.C.E.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. . . . [P]laying small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.

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And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. From a prayer by Marianne Williamson

Lord, not you, It is I who am absent. Denise Levertov, England, 1923–98

Blessed Are You I. Blessed are you woman of strength wrapped around order and chaos holding firm

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M Y S E L F

tension’s pieces forging new dreams and promised tomorrows. II. Blessed are you woman of passion rooted deep standing tall touching all you reach transforming the heart of the universe. III. Blessed are you woman of the earth sculpted from its clay and fired by the very breath of God forming and firing new life reflecting

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the One who calls you by name IV. Blessed are you tender woman freely sharing laughter and tears cleansing and healing weaving harmony welcoming all who touch your face. V. Blessed are you woman of wisdom enfolding, unfolding mystery and myth revealing truth and light for all who yearn to call themselves free. Margaret Cessna, H.M.

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M Y S E L F

Be Who You Are Be who you are, and may you be blessed in all that you are. Adapted from a prayer by Marcia Falk

It is by seeking to know one’s Self that the Mother of all may be found. Anandamayi Ma, India, 1896–1982

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O Lord, One tiny bit of water rests on the palm of my hand. I bring it to you and with it I bring the whole ocean. This tiny drop has the power to ease the burning thirst of men; when spread on the earth, to give life to the seed and the future harvest; when poured on the fire to quench the blaze. A tiny drop of water can cleanse the whole of my impurity when blessed by your forgiveness. But, O Lord, more than all this, this tiny drop of water passed over my head is the symbol of my birth in You. Ishpriya, RSCJ

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2

The Mother Line F

Pastoral Like an otter, but warm, she latched onto the shadowy tip and I watched, diminished by those amazing gulps. Finished she let her head loll, eyes unfocused and large: milk-drunk. I liked afterwards best, lying outside on a quilt, her new skin spread out like meringue. I felt then what a young man must feel with his first love asleep on his breast; desire, and the freedom to imagine it. Rita Dove

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The Boston School of Cooking Cookbook This is my mother’s cookbook, its spine loose with age, the fabric bare of colour at the seams and weak, so it must be held tenderly, the way my mother knows, easing into its pages with her disobedient-knuckled hands. This book is my mother’s; she navigates its mysteries with indifferent skill, reads the runes of food-stains, the faded trail of silverfish who ate their random way over words; she has the eye to decipher the tastes of another time, scrawled in the margins, invoking the power of other kitchens, the fit of old aprons, the shape of a family swallowed into other lives. This book’s pages, furred with use, fade to brown. Its leaves have pressed my mother’s memories in perfect squares, the things she needs concealed from time, things she likes to come upon by chance:

[20]

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household tips and obituaries, invitations to weddings. My first poem is in there, and the card someone made for mother’s day. Sentiment among the weeds of recipes she clipped in more ambitious days that crowd, untasted, between the even rows of meals we chewed our way through but never knew the names of, all those years’ worth of peeled vegetables and trimmed meat, a lifetime’s preparation vanished into our waiting mouths. Rhona McAdam

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I Have So Much I Can Teach Her I have so much I can teach her And pull out of her. I would say you might encounter defeats But you must never be defeated. I would teach her to love a lot. Laugh a lot at the silliest things And be very serious. I would teach her to love life, I could do that. Adapted from a poem by Maya Angelou

The Meaning of Bones Twins of grief— the mothers of the disappeared march two by two on the Plaza de Mayo. They wear placard-sized photos of Luis, Claudio, and Lila as necklaces

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to remind the world of their invisible children. From a poem by Megan Sexton

The Tablecloth On company nights when wine was poured, candlelight gathered and played the water and wine, throwing its soul to be carried as only liquid and human faces can carry light; and laughter played back, pushing joy at fire until the flames sputtered and squatted, danced and steadied above the crowded table. On company nights long before the candles were lit, before dishes clinked and chimed, I crouched under the table

[23]

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in a calm span of late sun reaching. My mother unfolded the cloth and floated it over the table, embrace and release all in one fluid sweep of deep red linen. And I loved her, loved her wide motion and loved the laughter late, as I drifted down to sleep singing whispers in my child’s bed, loved the moments as much as I would ever love any moments beside any lover in any darkness slashed through with quick laughter, voices layered and flecked with swaying light. And now I know that unfolding, know in my body the single motion of welcome and release, know the tenor and flare of the cloth billowing,

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settling smooth, ready for light, liquid, laughter, draping thighs and feet and hands and knees in the tangled dark. Christina Hutchins

Dying at 31 Padre, my mother will be alone. Please comfort her when I am gone. Rose of Lima, Peru, 1586–1617

Source My mother showed me. She pulled a carrot right up out of the ground before my eyes. She ran it under the garden tap

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and held it out to me, still warm from the earth. My baby teeth tested its crisp, giving body. In that one gesture, my mother on her knees in Ohio. Maggie Tuteur

Oh, God, thank you for the child I carry. . . I walk the world in wonder. I see it through new eyes. All is changed, subtly but singingly different. The beauty of sunlight upon the grass, the feel of its warmth along my arms. It is cradling me in tenderness as I shall cradle this child one day. I am mother and child in one, new as a child myself. Marjorie Holmes

[26]

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To Jacqueline, Age 2, in Her Great-Grandmother’s House Your great grand-grandmother is no place now, but I still see her image in this oval mirror; she is letting her silver hair down around her shoulders like a cloud. Your grandmother sees her as a young woman in an apron, pinning back brown curls on washday morning. I see all of us in your piercing eyes. From a poem by Kathleen Norris

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Cost of Living At the check out counter in Flanagan’s Grocery Store, I tuck stray hair behind my ear, run my eyes over the basket. A girl with perfect nails slides necessities across the scanner: juice, cookies for school lunch milk, bread, toilet paper. Amounts beep and flash, the numbers mocking me. I hand her a wadded twenty, ask for the change in quarters thank her with a smile I don’t feel. Tomorrow you turn fourteen, I’ve enough left to do the laundry. Ann-Marie Madden Irwin

[28]

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Prayer for Easy Labor Mother of the Universe and all Universal Knowledge, . . . Eve, the crown of Your creation, . . . delivered her children with strength. . . . May I be infused with Eve’s birthing powers. Let my labor be only mild pangs of discomfort, Yet may I labor for the revelation of Your presence in the world. Primal EarthMother Eve tended and cared for Your garden As I will care for my child. May this child grow to be conscious Of your world and environment as Eve did. Let this child blossom as a garden blooms in the springtime. From a prayer by Rabbi Geela Rayzel Raphael

Consecration I was thirteen when I gave my mother a small wicker basket of talcum powders, bath gel and rosewater. Handling each bottle like a semi-precious stone, she placed them on the bathroom counter like an altar-offering.

[29]

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Ashamed of my own body, I was the moon, wanting to show myself only when the world was black. I watched her undress and saw her familiar body. A thick pink scar stretched across the place where her left breast should have been. She filled the sink with warm soapy waters, drowning a sponge until it was heavy with water, then rubbed her skin clean, sprinkled and smoothed my gifts onto her body, anointing and preparing herself. I do not remember if we ever spoke. I knew only the touch of light on our bodies. Andrea O’Brien

35/10 Brushing out my daughter’s dark silken hair before the mirror I see the gray gleaming on my head, the silver-haired servant behind her. Why is it just as we begin to go they begin to arrive, the fold in my neck clarifying as the fine bones of her

[30]

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hips sharpen? As my skin shows its dry pitting, she opens like a small pale flower on the tip of a cactus, as my last chances to bear a child are falling through my body, the duds among them, her full purse of eggs, round and firm as hard-boiled yolks, is about to snap its clasp. I brush her tangled fragrant hair at bedtime. It’s an old story—the oldest we have on our planet— the story of replacement. Sharon Olds

to dance at your daughter’s wedding is to be poured into a cauldron of liquid ingredient in some old recipe a big spoon is stirring you your former brothersin-law your beautiful nieces from the other side of broken marriages—

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you’re kissing the unkissable ex-husband’s second wife’s mother— your new son-in-law’s five year old niece from texas shows off her white cowboy boots with fringe— in yiddish there’s a word for this: ‘the machitonem’— even your other daughter’s man (the one who won’t commit) asks you to dance the great spoon is mixing it all up— your mother your dead father your daughter in her shining gown her green eyes the whole gorgeous ferment of stirring bodies— suddenly an agitation among her brothers-in-law with chairs the bride and groom are lifted— above us—

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her silken tent of skirts his laughing eyes our clapping hands the white linen napkin held between them— Naomi Ruth Lowinsky

Gift from My Mother I hear the gentle music My mother used to play On the grand piano downstairs As I was falling asleep The song would leave the piano At the far end of the living room Curl around the wall Into the hall Climb up the stairs

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And slip under my bedroom door Without knocking Once in my lavender room It would wrap itself around me Like an extra cover For the night And I would fall asleep In its comforting chords For the rest of my life Betty McAfee

Your Clothes Of course they are empty shells, without hope of animation. Of course they are artifacts. Even if my sister and I should wear some, or if we give others away. they will always be your clothes without you, as we will always be your daughters without you. Judy Kroll

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To Elvira, My Maternal Grandmother You’re in the photo, surely, though only your gaze shows like the ragged rim of dusk as you squat behind your daughters, way behind your daughters, their dress-up lace and the innocent dismay of their faces, as though perhaps you don’t exist, as though you’re holding them out as a shield against the relentless sway of childbearing that eventually bled you to death. I cannot take your hand there. I cannot even see your hand: only my own holding your picture, the raw chaos of my care for you barely at bay. Patricia Carlson

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The Turning Point I watch my daughter at her dressage lesson. Technique and confidence override metaphor. And I, separate observer, cannot ever know how such a brave, slim beauty will one day assume control, take up those reins in her quiet hands, and ride through field and forest, dark water and city. How a girl outgrows the high fence of a sandy, soft arena, outgrows the fear of open space and its thousand ways she and that horse could go. How one afternoon when the wind riffles through my hair, thoughts aloft and balmy, my maternal arms resting heavy on the gates— that will be the afternoon she decides to open them and asks me to step back to safety. There, I am brought up to the point of so many lessons. What can I do but nod in recognition of all that might be sent sprawling? What can I do but swing wide those gates, walk back to the barn for a mount of my own? Jeanine Hathaway [36]

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What Came to Me I took the last dusty piece of china out of the barrel. It was your gravy boat, with a hard, brown drop of gravy still on the porcelain lip. I grieved for you then as I never had before. Source unknown

The Power in My Mother’s Arms There must be rituals that sever what harms our connection to the past and lets us keep the rest. From a poem by Florence Weinberger

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Chains of Fire I know myself linked by chains of fire to every woman who has kept a hearth. In the resinous smoke I smell hut, castle, cave, Mansion and hovel, See in the shifting flame my mother and grandmothers out over the world. From a poem by Elsa Gidlow

Mother of Mothers At Mesa Verde Dan picked up a potsherd. He showed me the pattern of ridges made by a human thumb. Giving the shard to me to hold he asked: “Who made this?” I. Touching what her hand made eight hundred years ago a woman like my mother, like myself

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I feel her sitting in my bones, turning and turning her pot her thumb rhythmic. How firmly planted in her circle of ground she is like the Yucca her thoughts are as spiny and as practical. Only for moments in the darkness of the Kiwa in the unknown of her womb does she Mother of Mothers allow her fear to bloom. What will be born and what will die in the next turn of the seasons in the next round of her thumb?

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Has too much been taken not enough returned? What dark erosion mushrooms in her dreams? II. In my mother’s kitchen I am kitchen table height watching her thumb turning and turning the knife rounds of cucumber slip into the bowl like pale moons. She has survived so many deaths and fragmentations fear lives in our house like a visiting relative who talks too much.

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III. They called it Trinity as though to harness the power of the latest gods inhabiting the land and on the sacred red New Mexican earth they worked their miracle: transformed matter into energy smashed the atom smashed the Axis made mushroom clouds to bloom over the desert My mother’s broken people rejoiced until the wind shifted.

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Some down to earth woman lost her baby and began counting miscarriages still births monstrous foetuses, deaths from cancer in every family people wondered: Whose gods are angry? . . . V. This is the faith I seek: that in the great round of worlds when I’ve been gone eight centuries

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a baby will be born a daughter of daughters She’ll grow into a woman like my daughters like myself. And if I could believe her time will come I’d leave her all the world and all the treasure of my life long crumbled in the dust be hers to find to hold within her hand some fragment of my kitchen

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by which she’d know the ancient ones have held her sacred. Naomi Ruth Lowinsky

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3

G a t h e r i n g O u r I n n e r S t re n g t h s F

Letting Go Let go of the place that holds, Let go of the place that flinches, Let go of the place that controls, Let go of the place that fears. Just let the ground support me. Listen, the wind is breathing in the trees. Sensing the edge of soft and hard, I follow the unseen path. Walking in the dark night, I practice faith, Building confidence in the unknown. Walking in the dark night, I practice courage, accepting the vastness of what I cannot see. From a poem by Stephanie Kaza

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A Cedary Fragrance Even now, decades after, I wash my face with cold water— Not for discipline, nor memory, nor the icy, awakening slap, but to practice choosing to make the unwanted wanted. Jane Hirshfield

Self-Giving We possess nothing in the world—a mere chance can strip us of everything—except the power to say “I.” And that is what we have to give to God. In other words: Ourselves. There is absolutely no other free act that is given us to achieve—only the gift of oneself. Simone Weil, France, 1909–43

[46]

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Three times each day I invoke your name in prayer. Andal, India, eighth century

From Self-Consciousness to Happiness By keeping a diary of what made me happy, I had discovered that happiness came when I was most widely aware. So I had finally come to the conclusion that my task was to become more and more aware, more and more understanding with an understanding that was not at all the same thing as intellectual comprehension. And, by finding that, in order to be more and more aware I had to be more and more still, I had not only come to see through my own eyes, instead of at second hand, I had also finally come to discover what was my way of escape

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from the imprisoning island of my own self-consciousness. Marion Milner

Learning to Grow Lord Jesus, Rabbi, Teacher, thank you for reminding us that until we bring you our darkness we cannot know your light; that until we become the servants of truth we cannot become wise leaders; that until we are good listeners we cannot speak with authority; that until we become willing, lifelong learners we cannot teach with insight or enthusiasm; that until we are ready to be reborn we cannot truly mature. Kate Compston

May you be drenched with the longing for peace, and make justice blossom on earth. Hildegard of Bingen, Germany, 1098–1179

[48]

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The Last Story And so the time comes when all the people of the earth can bring their gifts to the fire and look into each other’s faces unafraid Breathe deep Feel the sacred well that is your own breath, and look look at that circle See us come from every direction from the four quarters of the earth See the lines that stretch to the horizon the procession, the gifts borne see us feed the fire Feel the earth’s life renewed And the circle is complete again and the medicine wheel is formed anew and the knowledge within each one of us made whole Feel the great turning, feel the change the new life runs through your blood like fire and all of nature rises with it greening, burgeoning, bursting into flower. . . .

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This is the story we like to tell ourselves In the night When the labor is too hard, and goes on too long When the fire seems nothing but dying embers winking out We say we remember a time when we were free We say that we are free, still, and always And the pain we feel is that of labor And the cries we hear are those of birth And so you come to the fire where the old ones sit You are young just on the edge of ripening They are ancient their faces lined with spiderwebs of wrinkle Their faces brown, bronze, cream, black their eyes are wells of memory They say Listen child

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For this is your night of passage And it is time to learn Your history Tonight you will run free, out into the wild Fearing only the spirit of your own power And no one in this world would harm you or lay a hand on you But there was a time When children were not safe Starhawk

As I light these Sabbath candles Gracious Creator I thank you for these past seven days. Thank you for protecting my family and bringing us safely through the week; for deeper understanding of each other; for strengthening one another by sharing our joys and disappointments our victories and mistakes. I pray that in this coming week Our pride in one another and our love will grow, that we will have good health and you will be with us

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and with everyone everywhere who feels lost or threatened or ill. Adapted from a traditional Jewish prayer

In Pain God spoke to me: Trust me and follow my words in all things; However long you are ill, I will care for you. All those things which you need in body and soul I will give to you. Mechtild of Magdeburg, Germany, c.1212–82

Buddhist Vow Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow not to kill. Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow to not take what is not given. Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow to not engage in abusive relationships.

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Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow to not speak falsely or deceptively. Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow to not harm self or other through poisonous thought or substance. Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow to not dwell on past errors. Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow to not possess any thing or form of life selfishly. Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow to not harbor ill will toward any plant, animal, or human being. Knowing how deeply our lives intertwine, We vow to not abuse the great truth of the Three Treasures.* Stephanie Kaza * In Buddhism, the Three Treasures refer to the Buddha, the dharma (teachings), and the sangha (community).

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Moments of Real Grace Sometimes, during my early-morning meditation, a place within me opens and parts of myself let go that I did not even know were holding on. In these moments I feel all the hard parts in my heart and body yield to a great softness carried on my breath, . . . A great faith washes through me, a knowing that everything that needs to get done will get done. My shoulders drop an inch, the small but familiar ache in my chest eases, and the moment stretches. There is enough: enough time, enough energy, enough of all that is needed. A great tenderness for myself and the world opens inside me, and I know I belong to this time, to these people, to this earth, and to something that is both within and larger than all of it, something that sustains and holds us all. I do not want to be anywhere else. I am filled with commitment . . . and compassion. Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Life in Ravensbruck* Life in Ravensbruck, unfolding on two levels, * The Nazi death camp for women.

[54]

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mutually impossible. One the observable, external life, everyday more horrible. The other lived with God, better every day, truth upon truth, glory upon glory. The little Bible I slipped from its worn sack with hands that shook seemed so mysterious, all new to me, as though it had been just written. Sometimes I marveled that the ink was dry. I had believed the Bible always, but now it had nothing to do with belief. It was just a description of the way things were— of heaven and hell, how people behave and how God acts. Corrie Ten Boom, Holland

[55]

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Women Who Light Lives Seven women sing the Chanukah blessings the seventh night, light two menorahs each one candle on each. Speaking out by turns each of the seven women describes and praises a woman mentor from her past while the candles drip onto a little tray. Suddenly we are fourteen women in a double circle, spirits connected by stories we tell or stories told about us, witnesses to the great miracle of remembrance. Joanne Seltzer [56]

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Purnima before the first word of the day before I break my fast and break my silence before opening myself to traffic before losing touch with sleep hearing only the crowds of birds hearing only a far-off voice in a temple chanting seeing mists dissolve quickly in sun seeing the newborn mountains before losing touch with silence while still touching sleep before I forget to remember let me sit down and recall my blessings Judy Kroll

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We see you, see ourselves and know That we must take the utmost care And kindness in all things. Joy Harjo

How can you go on sleeping when all of us are awake? Wake up! Speak now and join us, hear our song! Andal, India, eighth century Translated by Jane Hirshfield

Breakdown I was terrified I’d break down. I did. It didn’t matter. Rosalind M. Baker, England

I Taught Myself to Live Simply I taught myself to live simply and wisely

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To look at the sky and pray to God and to wander long before evening to tire my superfluous worries. Anna Akhmatova, Russia, 1889–1966

God Alone Suffices Let nothing disturb you, Let nothing dismay you. All things pass God never changes. Patience attains all that it strives for. Those who have God find they lack nothing. God alone suffices. Teresa of Avila, Spain, 1515–82

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May the Blessing of Rain Be on You May the blessing of rain be on you, the soft sweet rain. May it fall upon your spirit so that small flowers may spring up and shed their sweetness in the air. May the blessing of the great rains be on you to beat upon your spirit and wash it clean; and leave there many a shining pool where the blue of heaven shines, and sometimes a star. May the blessing of the earth be on you, the great round earth; may you ever have a kindly greeting for people as you’re going along the roads. And now may the Lord bless you, and bless you kindly. Amen Celtic oral tradition, Wales, England, Ireland, and Scotland

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4

Finding Heaven in Mother Earth F

A vein of sapphires hides in the earth, a sweetness in fruit; and in plain-looking rock lies a golden ore, and in seeds, the treasure of oil. Like these, the Infinite rests concealed in the heart. No one can see the ways of our jasmine-white Lord. Mahadevi, India, twelfth century Translated by Jane Hirshfield

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Sow in me your living breath, As you sow a seed in the earth. Kadya Molodowsky, Russia, 1894–1975

His Heart Shone Right Out of His Eyes As her own mother tells it, and she would know, Apijigo was cooking up a fine pot of stew when a deer approached, stood by the edge of her camp. Just waiting. Apijigo thought, Should I eat him or should I share with him? Which? She picked up her killing hatchet but when she finally advanced toward the deer and looked him in the eye, she felt ashamed. She knew hunger when she saw it. Just walked past the deer and chopped a little more wood for the fire. Finished that stew. She put the stew onto the plate, set the plate down in front of the deer, got her own plate full, and ate sitting before him. He never moved. She ate the whole stew, mopped up every trace of it with bannock, pikwayzhigun, then sat quietly looking at him, crescent of horns, waiting. Unafraid. She had this feeling. Full. So this was what other people felt. She looked over at the deer. His eyes were steady and warm with a deep black light. His heart shone right out of his eyes. He loves me, she thought. He loves me and I love him back. Louise Erdrich

[62]

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Play in this universe. Tend All these shining things around you: The smallest plant, the creatures and objects in your care. Be gentle and nurture. Listen . . . From a poem by Anne Hillman

The Seven Directions (STAND ON MOTHER EARTH. FACE EAST.) Oh Great Spirit of the East, I face you to understand birth and new beginnings. I look to you bringing forth a new day and am reminded that life is about birth—of babies, puppies, new seasons, new ways of doing things. Teach me the mysteries of Beginnings. (FACE SOUTH.) Oh, Great Spirit of the South, I look to you to understand abundance, fertility, warmth, and the extravagance and colors of creation. Come to my mind and feet and lead me into the adventures of the South.

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(FACE WEST.) Oh Spirit of the West, I turn to you to understand dying. As the sun goes down each day, I am reminded of many deaths: friends, generations, the seasons, and old ways of doing things. Let the sunset remind me that, like the sun, I too shall arise in a new life and color. (FACE NORTH.) Oh Strong, Powerful North, I face you to remember that life sometimes comes to us in cold and harshness. Not only do the days grow cold, but others may turn cold toward us. Give me the strength of the Buffalo, that I may stand in blizzards with my face toward the North, without being blown down or overwhelmed. (FACE EAST AGAIN. LOOK UP.) Oh Great Spirit of all that is Up, all that soars, all that floats or flies above us, all that comes to us from on high to enlighten us, I cherish this direction. Give me visions, and let my mind walk among the stars and moon, and in the daylight of the sun. Oh, sweet power of Up, lift me high to my Father, the Sky. (STILL FACING EAST, LOOK DOWN.) Oh Great Spirit of all that is Down, I thank you for my Mother, the Earth. I ask to be humble, to be simple, to never consider myself

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above all my relatives in creation. And may I walk with such respect upon the earth, that when it is time for me to go to her, she may receive me sweetly to her heart. (STILL FACING EAST.) Oh Wondrous Direction of In, I put my hand on my heart to remind me of the mysteries, the unknowns that lie within me. Teach me to guard the simpler beauties. To walk closely within the circle of my God in my heart. Let me share only with those who can be loyal to my secrets. Ho! So it is!* Iroquois oral tradition, Native American Recorded by José Hobday

The little cares that fretted me. I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea. Among the winds at play; Among the lowing of the herds, The rustling of the trees, Among the singing of the birds, The humming of the bees. * The content of this prayer will vary every day and with every person. Only the form is given.

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The foolish fears of what may happen, I cast them all away Among the clover-scented grass, Among the new-mown hay; Among the husking of the corn Where drowsy poppies nod, Where ill thoughts die and good are born, Out in the fields with God. Elisabeth Barrett Browning England, 1806–61

Earth Teach Me Earth teach me stillness as the grasses are stilled with light. Earth teach me suffering as old stones suffer with memory. Earth teach me humility as blossoms are humble with beginning. Earth teach me caring as the mother who secures her young. Nancy Wood

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[T]he Holy may speak to you from its many hidden places at any time. The world may whisper in your ear. Or the spark of God in you may whisper in your heart. My grandfather showed me how to listen. Rachel Naomi Remen

The Sapphire How can I focus my flickering, perceive at the fountain’s heart the sapphire I know is there? Denise Levertov, England, 1923–98

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How Should I Fear to Die? How should I fear to die? Have I not seen The color of a small butterfly, The silver sheen Of breaking waves and a wood-dove’s wings? Have I not marked the coat Of mouse and deer, The shape of flowers, the thrush’s speckled throat— And shall I fear To fall into the hands that made these things? Teresa Hooley

The Stars Stars on fire that populate night’s far sky, mute stars revolving blind, forever glazed, you yank yesterdays out of our hearts and throw us on tomorrows without consent. We cry to you but all our cries are in vain. We follow you since we must, arms linked, eyes lifted to your pure but bitter light.

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From your viewpoint all our suffering means little. And so silent we stagger on—until suddenly your divine fire is here in our hearts. Simone Weil, France, 1909–43 Translated by Janine Canan

The mountain, I am part of it . . . The herbs, the fir tree, I am part of it. The morning mists, the clouds, the gathering waters, I am part of it. The wilderness, the dew drops, the pollen . . . I am part of it. Navajo, traditional chant

The Sacred Berry (HOLD A RIPE STRAWBERRY, GREEN STEM INTACT.) Oh sweet gift to the Seneca, I admire you. You are shaped like the heart to remind us that we are to live by the heart. Your flesh is red, to tell us our hearts should be moist with blood, never dry and brown and crackly.

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We study the seeds on the outside. They are many, to teach us that there are many ways in the world to believe, to understand life. All are worthy of respect. We finger the leaves, so we keep in mind that we must always stay connected to Mother Earth and appreciate her gifts. Now, we eat this beautiful strawberry from the bottom up (in silence), relishing the sweet taste. For the last bite we eat berry and leaf together to help us remember life holds bitter tastes with sweet. For all, we keep a thankful heart. Seneca oral tradition, Native American, recorded by José Hobday

This Island, This Season The corn stalks are broken. Potatoes are cached in dark corners, onions and garlic braided and hung. Gold peaches in glass and plums’ rich ruby. Black pulp of berries thickens in jars. Split cedar is stacked by the door and the lamps filled.

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Anchored all night in the eyes of this wind, the house billows toward stars. Alicia Hokanson

I know I am made from this earth, as my mother’s hands were made from this earth, as her dreams were made from this earth, and this paper, these hands, this tongue speaking, all that I know speaks to me through this earth and I long to tell you, you who are earth, too, and listen as we speak to each other of what we know; the light is in us. Susan Griffin

Spiritual Life There is no creation that does not have a radiance, Hildegard of Bingen, Germany, 1098–1179

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I think everything and everyone slept that afternoon in Little Rock. I sat with my dog in a cool place on the north side of my grandparent’s clapboard home. Hydrangeas flourished there, shaded from the heat. The domed blue flowers were higher than our heads. I held the dog’s head, stroking her into sleep. But she held my gaze. As I looked into her eyes I realized that I would never travel further than this into this animal’s eyes. At this particular moment I was allowed to see infinity through my dog’s eyes, and I was old enough to know that. They were as deep, as bewildering, as unattainable as a night sky. Just as mysterious was a clear awareness of water within me, the sound in my ears, yet resounding from my breast. It was a rumbling, rushing sound, the sound of moving water, waterfall water, white water. And I understood that these two things went together—the depth of a dark infinity and this energy of water. I understood, “This is who God is. My Mother is water and she is inside me and I am in the water.” Meinrad Craighead, England

How shall I begin my song In the blue night that is settling? Owl Woman, mid-nineteenth to early-twentieth century, Papago people, Native American

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Earth is crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God, but only he who sees takes off his shoes. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, England, 1806–61

The Prayer of the Cat Lord, I am the cat. It is not, precisely, that I want something from You! No. I never ask for anything. But Should You have, by any chance, in some heavenly barn a little white mouse or a saucer of milk, I know of someone who would delight in them; Or perhaps You might like someday To place a curse on the whole race of dogs.

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I would surely then say, Amen. Carmen Bernos de Gasztold, France, c.1925–?

My Lord, Lord of the mountain grove, At dawn Hosts of warbling sparrows Sing a song. They keep repeating Your name. Andal, India, eighth century

and how could anyone believe that anything in this world is only what it appears to be— Mary Oliver

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For All Our Needs F

Ti Prego* This season, Lord, I feel like the dogwood tree, Twisted, wind-whipped, Frost-stripped, Because the thaw came too quickly, Lord, Too early— Then the freeze. The blooms hurt, Lord. Trying to bud again With tips ice-burnt, Brown-burnt Trying to feel spring, Lord, Trying to feel, Lord, Wanting to feel the bloom again, But when? * Ti prego in Italian is the equivalent of “I plead with you,” or “I pray you.”

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When, Lord, when? Amen M. P. A. Sheaffer

God our Mother, Living Water, River of Mercy, Source of Life, in whom we live and move and have our being, who quenches our thirst, refreshes our weariness, bathes and washes and cleanses our wounds, be for us always a fountain of life, and for all the world a river of hope springing up in the midst of the deserts of despair. Honor and blessing,

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glory and praise to You forever. Amen. Medical Mission Sisters

A Prayer for Spiritual Teachers

Jesus, please bless our spiritual teachers Give them strength to nurture their fold Help them to know by your example that they can Be more than public saviors with private sins Grant them the integrity to face their shadow side And the willingness to explore and expose it And the courage to reject its seduction So that our spiritual teachers may set an example For us to seek support, comfort and honesty In all our relationships. Nancy Steinbeck

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Brigid’s Feast I should like a great lake of finest ale for the King of kings. I should like a table of the choicest food for the family of heaven. Let the ale be made from the fruits of faith and the food be forgiving love. I should welcome the poor to my feast, for they are God’s children. I should welcome the sick to my feast, for they are God’s joy. Let the poor sit with Jesus at the highest place, and the sick dance with the angels. God bless the poor, God bless the sick, and bless our human race. God bless our food, God bless our drink; all homes, O God, embrace. Brigid of Kildare Abbey, Ireland, c.450–523

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Give Me Someone Lord, When I am famished, Give me someone who needs food; When I am thirsty, Send me someone who needs water; When I am cold, Send me someone to warm; When I am hurting, Send me someone to console; . . . When I am poor, Lead someone needy to me; When I have no time, Give me someone to help for a moment; When I am criticized, Give me someone to praise; When I am discouraged, Send me someone to encourage; When I need another’s understanding, Give me someone who needs mine; When I need somebody to take care of me, Send me someone to care for;

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When I think too much of myself, Turn my thoughts toward someone else. Anonymous, twentieth century, Japan Adapted from the translation of Mary-Theresa McCarthy

Different Ways to Pray There were those who didn’t care about praying. The young ones. The ones who had been to America. They told the old ones, you are wasting your time. Time? The old ones prayed for the young ones. They prayed for Allah to mend their brains, for the twig, the round moon, to speak suddenly in a commanding tone. From a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye

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May I be free from danger, May I be free from fear, May I be healthy, May I dwell in peace. May you be free from danger, May you be free from fear, May you be healthy, May you dwell in peace. May all beings be free from danger, May all beings be free from fear, May all beings be healthy, May all beings dwell in peace. Traditional Buddhist Prayer

Open our eyes to see our own part in discord and aggression between people now; forgive us our price and divisions, and renew in us the search for peace, so that trust may replace suspicion, friendship replace fear. From a prayer by Angela Ashwin, England

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Help in Old Age from the Mother (after Psalm 71) In you, Great Mother, I take refuge; may I never be ashamed. Be my refuge and my rock where I may always dwell. Keep me from the cruelties of age, that I may never be alone. You are my hope, Great Mother, and have been since I was young. In fact you were with me in my mother’s womb. I thank you for my very life; everyone knows I worship you. Everyone knows you are my rock and they hear me sing your praise.

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Please don’t forsake me in old age, when my strength is almost gone. I’m afraid I’ll be mistreated, sent away from the home I love. I haven’t lost my love for you, I tell everyone about your power. I tell everyone about your beauty; I tell the world about your love. You have taught me from childhood, and still I learn from you every day. Even in old age, wrinkled and gray-haired, I am still your disciple. I want to live to see the return of the Mother to this earth. Barbara Gibson

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Make us ready, Lord, to serve others throughout the world who live and die in poverty and hunger. Give them, through our hands, this day their daily bread, and through our understanding love, give peace and joy. Adapted from a prayer of Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albania, 1910–97

Prayer for Village Earth (for seven generations) O Mother Earth, we pray today to link our spirits with all our brothers and sisters who share this web of life with us and to honor those who once walked upon this land. Rest quiet, Ancient Ones, we seek only to honor you and to respect the land. We will not take from it lightly, nor do harm. We will respect those creatures with whom we share this sacred place.

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Eagle, Snake, Coyote and Lizard, we honor you! Bless us, please you Flying People, Crawling People, the Swimmers, Plants and Tree People, and all our four-legged brothers and sisters! Father Sun, we beseech you to shine down your love and light upon us! Sister Rain and Brother Wind, walk softly here, for we are small beneath your mighty power! Sister Moon, shine gently as you guide us into dreamtime, and when you journey across the world, send your stars to light our way home! O Mother Earth, accept our prayer, bless us with your energy and healing. Help us to remember that we are connected to all who share your sacred web of life . . . past, present, and future, that in divinity and grace, we may exist as one! Sharon Auberle

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Prayer for Beauty Watch over us, Your hand before us, protect us, Heal us, make us well. As you speak to us, we speak to you: May it be beautiful before us. May it be beautiful behind us. May it be beautiful below us. May it be beautiful above us. May it be beautiful everywhere. Restore us in beauty. Restore us in beauty. Changing Woman, Navajo, Native American

Prayer for a Child While Listening to Rachmaninoff Bless this child, whose blue eyes widen as the notes swell and bless the wonder of their new-soul depths. Bless this sun-glazed evening and the green chair where I rock her to sleep, adrift in music and light.

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Bless the touch of her tiny hand as my eyes grow heavy and hers close, sailing off into that orange sky of sleep. Bless the genius of her miniature thumb, surpassing the wonder of Rachmaninoff and sunset, and bless the grace that shows me somewhere lives a smiling God. Sharon Auberle

Prayer for Wellness Oh Great Spirit— Grandfather— Grandmother— Help us with the power of the Thunder-Beings To admit the pain that has led us to shut out your Wisdom. Open our memories to the lives of our Ancestors To the ways of relating in Traditional Harmony.

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Shine the light of New Days on our lives To open our eyes to what we cannot see in the darkness of Dysfunction. Tie us to all the Peoples who walk this Sacred Path To the Spirit within us, our source of life and support. Oh Great Spirit— Grandfather— Grandmother— Help us to accept our history that we may be wise. Help us to use our memories to revive our ways. Help us to use our vision to see new paths clearly. Help us to accept our spirits to be our strength. To stand with feet firmly planted on this good Earth. To speak only that which comes from the Truth. To be Proud. To HEAL WITH DIGNITY. Maria Cristina Gonzalez

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Metta Prayer May I be well, loving, and peaceful. May I be at ease in my body, feeling the ground beneath my feet and letting my back be long and straight, enjoying breath as it rises and falls and rises. May I know and be intimate with body mind, whatever its feeling or mood, calm or agitated, tired or energetic, irritated or friendly. Breathing in and out, in and out, aware, moment by moment, of the risings and passings. May I be attentive and gentle towards my own discomfort and suffering. May I be attentive and grateful for my own joy and well-being. May I move towards others freely and with openness. May I receive others with sympathy and understanding. May I move towards the suffering of others with peaceful and attentive confidence. May I recall the Boddhisattva of compassion; her 1000 hands, her instant readiness for action. Each hand with an eye in it, the instinctive knowing what to do. May I continually cultivate the ground of peace for myself and others and persist, mindful and dedicated to this work, independent of results.

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May I know that my peace and the world’s peace are not separate; that our peace in the world is a result of our work for justice. May all beings be well, happy, and peaceful. Maylie Scott

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A t Wo r k F

A Zen Prayer for Preparing a Meal: How To Stuff a Pepper Take your green pepper, and gently, for peppers are shy. No matter which side you approach, it’s always the back side. Perched on green buttocks, the pepper sleeps. In its silk tights, it dreams of somersaults and parsley, of the days when the sexes were one. Slash open the sleeve as if you were cutting a paper lantern, and enter a moon, spilled like a melon, a fever of pearls, a conversation of glaciers. It is a temple built to the worship of morning light.

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I have sat under the great globe of seeds on the roof of that chamber, too dazzled to gather the taste I came for. I have taken the pepper in hand, smooth and blind, a runt in the rich evolution or roses and ferns. You say I have not yet taught you to stuff a pepper? Cooking takes time. Next time we’ll consider the rice. Nancy Willard

Kalighat* Bhogobaan ekane ache, Mother Teresa whispered in Bengali as she went from bed to bed: God is here.

* Mother Teresa’s home for the dying destitute in Calcutta, Kalighat was reputedly the hardest assignment in her worldwide community. Anita Mathias is a former member of the community.

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Her creased face looked sweet and sad. “This is Bhogobaan ki badi, God’s house,” the sisters told new arrivals, believing that Kalighat is sanctified in its very stones by the thousands who have died peaceful deaths here. Perhaps the light created this aura. The light spilled from high windows through a filigreed lattice, spilled into the dim room with a stippled radiance that made working there an epiphany. Anita Mathias

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You Can Also Pray While You Work You can also pray while you work. Work doesn’t stop prayer. And prayer doesn’t stop work. It requires only that small raising of the mind to God. “I love you, God. I trust you. I believe in you. I need you now.” Small things like that. They are wonderful prayers. Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Albania, 1910–97

A Pediatrician’s Prayer for Perfection See how she grabs my finger? Your daughter is strong, what a grasp! Look how she roots around for the nipple When I stroke her cheek. (Let this baby be as perfect inside as outside. May her heart murmur be as innocent as she is. Let her not stop breathing one morning for no reason, and, When her mother picks her up from an extra-long nap, Be already cold to the touch.) Perfectly normal, that’s perfectly normal! Oh, she only has eyes for her mother, see, She’s looking at you! (Now that this baby girl is delivered, deliver her from infection, Structural defects, neoplasm, metabolic deficiencies, and

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From shaking by the boyfriend who is not her father, From smothering by her mother who needs mothering herself.) Your daughter is perfect, absolutely perfect! (More than anything, Let me not have made a mistake.) Jan Steckel, M.D.

What Must I Do? God know my situation. I am but one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. Bishop Barbara Clementine Harris

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Litany of Sorrow for Denying Women Authority MEN AND WOMEN SAY: We have denied the authority of women And limited our gifts; WOMEN: But “nothing is veiled that will not be revealed.” “Nothing is hidden that will not be made known.” MEN: We have feared those who are not like us. We have refused to show our weakness. We have locked away part of ourselves. MEN AND WOMEN: But “nothing is veiled that will not be revealed.” “Nothing is hidden that will not be made known.” WOMEN: We have feared those who are like us; We have refused to know our strength. We have locked away part of ourselves.

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MEN AND WOMEN: But “nothing is veiled that will not be revealed.” “Nothing is hidden that will not be made known.” MEN: We have resisted the Wisdom of God And not sought Her face. WOMEN: We have turned aside from Her image And hidden our knowledge of Her. MEN AND WOMEN: But have no fear. For “nothing is veiled that will not be revealed.” “Nothing is hidden that will not be made known.” Adapted from a prayer for the first ordination of Anglican women, London, March 31, 1987

Litany of Blessing for a Woman Taking Authority WOMEN SAY: Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.

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WOMEN AND MEN: Blessed are you among women. MEN: May you speak with the voice of the voiceless, and give courage to those in despair. WOMEN: May you feed the hungry of mind and heart, And send away satisfied those who are empty. MEN: May you be strong to confront injustice, and powerful to rebuke the arrogant. WOMEN: May you not be alone but find support in your struggle and sisters to rejoice with you. MEN: May your vision be fulfilled in company with us; may you have brothers on your journey.

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WOMEN: Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord. WOMEN AND MEN: Blessed are you . . . Adapted from a prayer for the first ordination of Anglican women, London, March 31, 1987

I saw God in an instant of time, in my understanding, and by this vision I saw that God is present in all things . . . And God said to me: I thank you for your service and your labor, and especially in your youth. Julian of Norwich, England, 1342–c.1423

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My Poems come to me hard fisted with mean mouths they are not polite ladies will not be still they won’t stay where I put them nor keep my secrets. I like their red rough hands, their ready grins the way they yank and unravel my bindings, and won’t let me sleep until they let loose my soul. Nita Penfold

Prayer Before Work Great one, austere By whose intent the distant star Holds its course clear, Now make this spirit soar— Give it that ease. From a poem by May Sarton

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Lord of all the world, in your hand is all blessing. I come now to revere your holiness by baking bread, and I ask you to bless all the ingredients. Send an angel to watch over my baking, so that all will be done well, the bread will rise perfectly, and will not be burned. These baked goods will honor the holy Sabbath when holy blessings will be recited. Bless my work as you blessed the dough of Sarah and Rebecca, our mothers. My Lord God, listen to my voice, for you are the God who hears the voices of those who call upon you wholeheartedly. May you be praised to eternity. Adapted from a traditional Jewish prayer

Cleaning Rice On the balcony of my courtyard I sit Cleaning rice, picking out the tiny black pebbles. On the wings of a warm breeze The music of my neighbor rises to my ear. His musical arrangements, like sweet scent, Intangibly sink into my being. The music stops. He leaves, the courtyard gate closes behind him. “Alla Aqbar,” chants the muezzin in the mosque on the Mount. It is noon. Loudspeakers throughout the walled City

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Transmit his call. And I sit, in my high-walled courtyard, Cleaning the rice. Ruth Fogelman, Israel

Too Much to Do How is it, my God, that you have given me this hectic life and so little time to enjoy your presence. All day, people are waiting to speak to me, and even during meals I have to keep talking to people about their concerns and needs. During sleep itself I am still thinking and dreaming about the problems that wait for me tomorrow. I am doing all this for you, not for myself. My way of life is more tormenting than reward, and I only hope that for you it is a gift of love. I know you are always beside me, yet I become so busy that I forget you and ignore you. If you want me to keep up this pace, please make me think about you and love you, even during the most hectic activity. If you do not want me to be so busy, please release me from it and teach me how others can take over some of my responsibilities. Teresa of Avila, Spain, 1515–82

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Radiating Pain Doctor, what I want is to feel the same. I want to curl up in an overstuffed chair with a good book to settle down casually next to someone and strike up a conversation to sit on a park bench and eat my lunch to buy a week’s worth of groceries and carry them all upstairs at once to run along a trail next to the water to wear shoes that aren’t sneakers or Birkenstocks to drive my fire-engine red Ford Galaxy from Mexico to Oregon again to ride my motorbike down slippery mud ravines to dance at the wedding instead of standing in the back of the church to sit through the bar mitzvah instead of lurking in synagogue shadows to accept the folding white lawn chair thoughtfully provided at the graveside to lift up the girl-child who is asking to sit on my lap to sit astride my man while making love to have him come up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder without every muscle in my back clenching to lean back when he kisses me and not feel that tightness grabbing at me and almost see the line of fire shooting down my leg

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or just lie alone in my bed at night and not be aware that my left leg feels any different from the right or that I am any different from anyone else who takes these things for granted. Jan Steckel, M.D.

May there always be work for your hands to do May your purse always hold a coin or two May the sun always shine through your window pane May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain May the hand of a friend be near to you May God fill your heart to gladden you. Anonymous, ancient Ireland

Doing the Best We Can When we do the best we can, We never know what miracles await. Helen Keller, 1880–1968

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The Great Work Lord, in the presence of your love, I ask that you unite my work with your great work, and bring it to fulfillment. Just as a drop of water, poured into a river, becomes one with the flowing waters, so may all I do become part of all that you do. So that those with whom I live and work may also be drawn to your love. Gertrude of Helfta, Germany 1256–c.1302

Go Forward Securely What you hold, may you always hold. What you do, may you always do, and never abandon. But with swift pace, light step, and unswerving feet, go forward securely, joyfully, and lightly, on wisdom’s path. Believing nothing, agreeing with nothing, which would dissuade you from your resolution. Or which would place a stumbling block for you on the way. So that you may offer your promises to the Most High God, in the pursuit of the sacred goals to which the Spirit has summoned you. Clare of Assisi, Italy, 1194–1253

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G r a t e f u l f o r Ever ything F

Magnificat My soul magnifies God Luke 1:46 What shall I do with this quiet joy? It calls forth the expanse of my soul, calls it forth to go singing through the world, calls it forth to rock the cradles of death gently and without fear, to collect the rain in my hands and spill it like laughter,

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calls it forth to touch and carry her suffering, his age our dense flesh, to bear into this world a place where light will glisten the edge of every wing and blade of grass, shine along every hair on every head, gleam among the turnings of every wave, glorify the turning open of each life, each human hand. Christina Hutchins

Unexpected Blessings Give thanks For unknown blessings Already on their way. Anonymous Native American prayer

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To Sing Is to Praise To sing is to love and to affirm, to fly and soar, to coast into the hearts of the people who listen, to tell them that life is to live, that love is there, that nothing is a promise, but that beauty exists, and must be hunted for and found. That death is a luxury, better to be romanticized and sung about than dwelt upon in the face of life. To sing is to praise God and the daffodils, and to praise God is to thank Him, in every note within my small range, and every color in the tones of my voice, with every look into the eyes of my audience, to thank Him. Thank you, God, for letting me be born, for giving me eyes to see the daffodils lean in the wind, all my brothers, all my sisters, for giving me ears to hear crying, legs to come running, hands to smooth damp hair, a voice to laugh with and to sing with . . . to sing to you and the daffodils . . . which are you. Joan Baez

Faithfulness May you be blessed forever, Lord, for not abandoning me when I abandoned you. May you be blessed forever, Lord, for offering your hand of love in my darkest, most lonely moment. May you be blessed forever, Lord, for putting up with such A stubborn soul as mine.

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May you be blessed forever, Lord, for loving me more than I love myself. May you be blessed forever, Lord, for continuing to pour out your blessings upon me, even though I respond so poorly. May you be blessed forever, Lord, for drawing out the goodness in people, including me. May you be blessed forever, Lord, for repaying our sins with your love. May you be blessed forever, Lord, for being constant and unchanging, amidst all the changes in the world. May you be blessed forever, Lord, for your countless blessings on me and on every creature in the world. Teresa of Avila, Spain, 1515–82

For the Darkness For the darkness of waiting Of not knowing what is to come Of staying ready and quiet and attentive, We praise you, o God. For the darkness and the light Are both alike to you.

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For the darkness of staying silent For the terror of having nothing to say And for the greater terror Of needing to say nothing, We praise you, o God. For the darkness and the light Are both alike to you. For the darkness of loving In which it is safe to surrender To let go of our self-protection And to stop holding back our desire, We praise you, o God. For the darkness and the light Are both alike to you. For the darkness of choosing when you give us the moment to speak, and act, and change, and we cannot know what we have set in motion, but we still have to take the risk, We praise you, o God.

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For the darkness and the light Are both alike to you. For the darkness of hoping In a world which longs for you, For the wrestling and the laboring of all creation For wholeness and justice and freedom, We praise you, o God. For the darkness and the light Are both alike to you. Adapted from an Anglican Litany prayed in Canterbury Cathedral, April 18, 1986

To Our First Grandmother We are thankful to our first Grandmother, the Moon, who lights the nighttime sky. She is our leader. She watches over the ocean’s tides. By her face we measure the passing of the days. She watches over us when a child arrives. We send greetings and thanks to Grandmother Moon. Mohawk oral tradition, Native American

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Gratitude Gratitude for the trees That shared their bodies For this book Gratitude for the many friends Along the way Gratitude to time and space Within which to be creative Gratitude for Above and Below Inside and All Around For inspiration Gratitude for the All That is beyond any words Mystery dwelling between the lines And thank you to the Old One That is ever being born. —Amen Rosemary Partridge [113]

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Celtic Thanksgiving O gentle Christ, ever thanks to Thee, That Thou from the dark has raised me free And from the coldness of last night’s space To the gentle light of this day’s grace. Celtic oral tradition, Wales, England, Ireland, and Scotland

All you clear and shimmering waters, . . . All you tiny insects hovering over the water All the winds in the trees All you bass that avoid our lures All you loons that glide and dive All you chipmunks and squirrels and baby rabbits that eat from our doorstep All you huge rocks and palisades All you silent canoes All you early morning fishermen, Praise the Lord. From a poem by Pat Corrick Hinton

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Thank you, my dear, You came, and you did well to come: I needed you. You have made love blaze up in my breast—bless you! Bless you as often as the hours have been endless to me while you were gone. Mary Bernard

Theology If the flies did not hurry themselves to the window they’d still die somewhere. Other creatures choose the other dimension: to slip into a thicket, swim into the shaded, undercut part of the stream.

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My dog would make her tennis ball disappear into just such a hollow, pushing it under the water with both paws. Then dig for it furiously, wildly, until it popped up again. A game or a theology, I could not tell. The flies might well prefer the dawn-ribboned mouth of a trout, its crisp and speed, if they could get there, though they are not in truth that kind of fly and preference is not given often in these matters. A border collie’s preference is to do anything entirely, with the whole attention. This Simone Weil called prayer. And almost always, her prayers were successful— the tennis ball could be summoned again to the surface. When a friend’s new pound dog, diagnosed distempered, doctored for weeks, crawled under the porch to die, my friend crawled after, pulled her out, said “No!,”

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as if to live were just a simple matter of training. The coy-dog, startled, obeyed. Now trots out to greet my car when I come to visit. Only a firefly’s evening blinking outside the window, this miraculous story, but everyone hurries to believe it. Jane Hirshfield

Thank You Listen With the night falling we are saying thank you . . . with the animals dying around us our lost feelings we are saying thank you in the forests falling faster than the minutes of our lives we are saying thank you with the words going out like cells of a brain with the cities growing over us like the earth faster and faster we are saying thank you with nobody listening we are saying thank you we are saying thank you and waving dark though it is. From a poem by Anne Lamott

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I Arise Today I arise today Through a mighty strength: God’s power to guide me, God’s might to uphold me, God’s wisdom to teach me, God’s eyes to watch over me, God’s ear to hear me, God’s word to give me speech, God’s hand to guard me, God’s way to lie before me, God’s shield to shelter me, God’s host to secure me. Brigid of Kildare Abbey, Ireland, c.450–523

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F O R

E V E R Y T H I N G

The Flowers The flowers come and go Filled with light Breath and color Reminders That some things Can be counted on To bud and bloom Linger awhile Then die The meaning of their life is known By the hands that held them The bowl that contained them The hearts that loved them The air that was filled With their fragrance And The breath-taking change They made in the Universe Wherever they were Betty McAfee

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Praise to You Spirit of Fire! Praise to you Spirit of Fire! To you who sound the timbrel And the lyre. Your music sets our minds Ablaze! The strength of our souls Awaits your coming. There the mounting will Gives the soul its savor And desire is its lantern. Insight invokes you in a cry Full of sweetness, while reason Builds you temples as she labors At her golden crafts. Hildegard of Bingen, Germany, 1098–1179

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F O R

E V E R Y T H I N G

Give Thanks for Everything Give thanks for everything you have, For everything you receive, And for everything you are going to receive. Never cease to give thanks, For this positive attitude towards life— The very act of giving thanks— Draws the best out of you, Helps to keep your heart and mind open; Helps to keep your awareness expanding. The more blessings you count, The more they increase. Adapted from a poem by Eileen Caddy

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8

Out of Darkness F

Mother Wisdom Speaks Some of you I will hollow out. I will make you a cave. I will carve you so deep the stars will shine in your darkness. You will be a bowl. You will be the cup in the rock collecting rain. . . . I will do this because the world needs the hollownesss of you. I will do this for the space that you will be. I will do this because you must be large. A passage. People will find their way through you. A bowl. People will eat from you and their hunger will not weaken them to death. A cup to catch the sacred rain. . . .

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Light will flow in your hollowing. You will be filled with light. Your bones will shine. The round open center of you will be radiant. I will call you Brilliant One. I will call you Daughter Who is Wide. I will call you transformed. From a poem by Christine Lore Webber

Why Do You Hide Yourself? Why, O my Love, my Life, my Light, do you hide yourself from me? Why does that heart which I have felt beat against my own a thousand times, whose fiery heat has warmed my soul over and over again, why is that very heart unconscious of my needs and hurt today, when yesterday we were one. Why is it that living as I do in the presence of your burning love, everything near me today is as ice, indifference, and pain? Why, Love of my loves, my heaven, my own, my all, why do you leave my soul to drown in an ocean of loneliness? Concepcion Cabrera de Armida (Conchita), Mexico, 1862–1932

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O F

D A R K N E S S

Dear God, it is so hard for us not to be anxious, we worry about work and money, about food and health, about weather and crops, about war and politics, about loving and being loved. Show us how perfect love casts out fear. Monica Furlong, England

Passing the Refugee Camp Yesterday the soldiers smashed Lena’s sink and tub and tiles They whipped a father in front of his sons ages 2 and 4 They do this all the time The house filled with water They locked the door on the crying boys taking the father

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Believe me Lena says They had no reason On the steps of the National Palace Hotel soldiers peel oranges throwing back their heads so the juice runs down their throats This must be their coffee break guns slung sideways They are laughing stripping lustily They know what sweetness lives within How can they know this and forget so many other things? From a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye

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O F

D A R K N E S S

For Victims of War and Refugees O, God, you bring hope out of emptiness energy out of fear new life out of grief and loss; comfort all who have lost their homes through persecution, war, exile, or deliberate destruction. Give them security, a place to live, and neighbors they trust to be, with them, a new sign of peace to the world. Abridged from a poem by Janet Morley, England

Lament for September 11, 2001 (after Psalm 137) By the shores of the Hudson River, we sat down and wept when we remembered our city. We have stopped singing because Fear and Hate, our captors,

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torment us with memories of the past, saying, “You’ll never sing like you used to.” How can we be joyful in the midst of such devastation? If we forget you, Manhattan, if we forget the dead, may our right hands wither. Let our tongues stick to our mouths if we forget those we have lost, only to return to our proud and ignorant ways. Remember, O Distant God, the day of disaster in the city. Defeat our captors, Fear and Hate, who scream “Tear down Afghanistan! Tear it down to the foundations!” O Fear and Hate, you devastate us! You make us long for revenge,

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O F

D A R K N E S S

you make us learn to bomb small villages. You make us desire the suffering of others. Remember, O Distant God, the day of disaster in the city, and save us from our proud and ignorant ways. Barbara Gibson

The Next Day: 9/12/01 Bless the black Mercedes cutting me off bless the cell phone and the ear pressed against it. Bless the sneakers running between shadows to the park, the workers trying to save the diseased elm. Bless the elm, the suit jacket draped over an arm, the bent arm, the shoulder covered in oxford cloth, the neck and tie. Bless the pulse in the neck.

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Bless the high-heels rushing, the wheels on the stroller, the cursing mouth. the hand tossing the coffee cup, Bless the pissing in the bushes, the singing in the car. the breath visible in cold air. Bless how we forgot. Ann-Marie Madden Irwin

For the 500th Dead Palestinian: Ibtisam Bozieh LITTLE SISTER Ibtisam, our sleep flounders, our sleep tugs the cord of your name. Dead at 13, for staring through the window into a gun barrel which did not know you wanted to be a doctor. From a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye

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O F

D A R K N E S S

In the Cemetery of Your City: Israel, March 6, 2002 In the cemetery of your city You grieve by the freshly filled grave You deny that this is really happening— Your child, your grandchild— Lifeless. Why are you standing there—alive While your progeny lies under earth? “Unreal, unreal,” you say, As tears well in your eyes And drizzle down your cheek. You stand, gazing at the name Stuck on a small stick Atop the freshly shoveled earth. Is this all that is left of your dream? Or is this just one bad dream From which you will awaken? Dazed, you lick the salty liquid from your lip. A deep voice rises: “Yitgadal veyitkadash. . . .” And you walk away to the hole in your home. Ruth Fogelman, Israel

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What Is Happening Moment to moment we ask, what is happening? The sound of shattering everywhere, is it the world, fragmenting at last, or our own hearts cracking, the final break-up of ice? Dorothy Walters

Prayer from Auschwitz You have made me so rich, oh God; please let me share out Your beauty with open hands. My life has become an uninterrupted dialogue with You, oh God, one great dialogue. Sometimes when I stand in some corner of the camp, my feet planted on Your earth, my eyes raised toward Your Heaven, tears sometimes run down my face, tears of deep emotion and gratitude. At night, too, when I lie in bed and rest in You, oh God, tears of gratitude run down my face, and that is my prayer. Etty Hillesum, Netherlands, d. 1943 in Auschwitz Translated by Otto Pomerans

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O F

D A R K N E S S

Bodhi Some days are like this, you wake with an ache in your chest that isn’t even yours. You know that somewhere, great rivers of blood are being shed. Somewhere, mothers are weeping over children, bodies strewn like wildflowers. Somewhere, men and women eat a bowl of pain— A man tells his wife that he is leaving, A woman wakes in an empty bed or puts her hand to an empty place where a breast was. Somewhere, in the screeching of brakes there is a shattering, of glass, of lives. This earth is covered in a sea of suffering. If for a few moments we manage to forget do not begrudge us our wine, our prayer, our reaching out for a word, a touch, even from a stranger. Regina Sara Ryan

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Troparion* Lord, This woman who encountered her shadow perceives the numinous in You, leads the women who come with grief and myrrh to Your grave. Alas! What a desperate night I’ve traveled through: extravagant the desire, dark and moonless the need of a passionate body. Accept this spring of tears, You who empty the seawater from the clouds. Bend to the pain in my heart, You whose incarnation bent the sky and left it empty. I will wash your feet with kisses, dry them with my hair, feet that Eve once heard at dusk in Paradise, then hid in fear. You who are limitless mercy—who will trace the results of a lifetime I’ve done wrong, evaluate my weakness? I ask, remember me if nothing else, as one who lived. Kassiane, c.804–?, Byzantium, Translated by Liana Sakelliou *an Eastern Orthodox hymn in the voice of Mary Magdalen

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O F

D A R K N E S S

Not Without Longing Come, rest inside this house you left to travel so far. Home now, you see the sleeping mountain was here all along— the braided rope of the past no longer someone else you must look for. The heart left open will heal itself all over again as the daring moon slowly rises. Karen Benke

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In the morning the waking was slow as the cool breeze blew in from the open patio, and there was no need for rush or hurry. The sun cast a yellow hue through the drapes and she sighed wanting to continue the deep breathing of the sleep she had craved. She was alone now. By choice this time. Only the birdsong greeted her from the tree branch that brushed against the bedroom window. The sweet fragrance of the early breeze filled her up with springtime. For a long time she lay there letting the morning embrace her. With a deep yawn she moved into consciousness. She was not shaken by this recent turn of events. It was better this way.

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D A R K N E S S

From the warm cocoon of bed into the kiss of the morning sun she rose again. And life was new. Linda S. Boerstler

I saw you in the doorway. You were black and bruised and broken. I knew you were someone’s daughter. You are your mother’s daughter. If she could, she would sit with you and say how much she loved you. I saw you in the shelter. You looked much older than your years. Your kids were tired and making a fuss. I knew you were someone’s daughter. You are your mother’s daughter. Imagine her here as a sister a friend, saying how much she loves you.

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I saw you on the news last night on a dirt road in Soweto. They were screaming at you. You had no shoes. I know you were someone’s daughter. You are your mother’s daughter and she is her mother’s daughter. She has put up with so much abuse. That shows how much she loves you. I saw you in the delivery room in drug withdrawal, writhing. They say you have AIDS. You are three hours old, and I know you are someone’s daughter. You are your mother’s daughter and she needs you to forgive her. She doesn’t know how to love as yet, but when she does, I promise you, she will say how much she loves you. I saw you in an orphanage. How sad you looked, and lonely.

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O F

D A R K N E S S

They say that you are hard to place, but I know you are someone’s daughter. You are your mother’s daughter and a foster mother’s daughter, and one of these days, she will come for you and say how much she loves you. I saw you in a nursing home. You were slumped in a chair with a vacant stare. I knew you were somebody’s daughter. You are your mother’s daughter, your Mother God’s own daughter. Soon, very soon, She will come for you and say how much She loves you. Miriam Therese Winter

From moment to moment one can bear much. Teresa of Avila, Spain, 1515–82

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May the angel of God make smooth the road, May the angel of God be carrying you home. Celtic oral tradition, Wales, England, Ireland, and Scotland

Psalms of a Laywoman I suffered, and now there is joy, I was lonely, and now there is comfort, I was desolate, and now there is warmth. I was empty, and now there is fullness. From a prayer by Edwina Gately

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O F

D A R K N E S S

There is a Brokenness There is a brokenness out of which comes the unbroken, a shatteredness out of which blooms the unshatterable. There is a sorrow beyond all grief which leads to joy and a fragility out of whose depths emerges strength. There is a hollow space too vast for words through which we pass with each loss, out of whose darkness we are sanctioned into being. There is a cry deeper than all sound whose serrated edges cut the heart as we break open to the place inside which is unbreakable and whole, while learning to sing. Rashani

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9

Our Spiritual and Mystical Experience F

Preparing to Greet the Goddess Do not think of her until you are prepared to be driven to your limits, to rush forth from yourself like a ritual bowl overflowing with consecrated wine. Do not summon her image unless you are ready to be blinded, to stand in the flash of a center exploding, yourself shattering into the landscape, wavering bits of bark and water. Do not speak her name until you have said goodbye to all your familiar trinkets—

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your mirrors, your bracelets, your childhood adorations— From now on you are nothing, a ghost hovering at the window, a voice singing under water. Dorothy Walters

Fire in Water I have been told, “The sun on deep waves is beautiful.” And have dreamed on those words. I will dive down to the edge of darkness, to see where fire is drowned in understanding. Fiona Davidson

As a silkworm weaves her home, with love, from her own threads, wrapping herself round and round, and dying becomes,

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S P I R I T U A L

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M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

I burn with the heart’s desire. O Lord, break into my greed, and show me your way through. O White Jasmine Lord Mahadevi, India, twelfth century

you

of the psalms and the river who fill up my pitcher with water you of my breath and my dream— sleeper beside me in bed you—

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cottonwood tree in the early morning the garbage truck rattles its cans— i wait by the well all day you don’t come all night you are seven time zones away in a land known to sailors in homer the e-mail is down i can’t reach you to whom mirabai spoke you who are covered with flowers sent out to sea on a raft you to whom rilke is whispering of terrible angels

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S P I R I T U A L

A N D

M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

you whom i lost when i entered this world and learned to say you in words— you break into my night— rattle my rib cage— make biblical claims on my flesh— you two A.M. terror lusting for what you have made— lord of the apple tree— angel with fangs— i spit like an old jewish woman— water to dust in your hands—

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suddenly everything’s hot— fire on the mountain— you— burning in me— never consumed— Naomi Ruth Lowinsky

The desert waits, ready for those who come, who follow the Spirit’s leading or are driven, because they will not come any other way. Adapted from a poem by Ruth Burgess

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S P I R I T U A L

A N D

M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

Enter and penetrate, O Spirit. Come and bless This hour. Madeleine L’Engle

The Sacredness of Time Within the holy light that sweeps across the world, illumining all that is dark, warming all that is cold, the sacred cycle of time unfolds through the moon’s great revolutions, the turning seasons and flowing tides, birds rushing south and returning north again. At the center of sacred time, the high purpose and meaning of all existence is revealed and concealed, a miracle and a mystery. No words lie deep enough to explain or convey the holiness of time eternally cycling and spiraling through the vast universe. Sacred Scriptures hint at the Truth in sublime and simple images: For everything there is a season And a time for every matter under heaven; A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to reap; A time to harm, and a time to heal; A time to break down, and a time to build up;

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A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance. (Ecclesiastes 3.1–5) Within these unending cycles of change, of loss and newness that sacred time brings in its wake, each life unfolds in passages that bring to an end forever something that was and create something entirely new. Unplanned, unexpected, unpredictable—for the Spirit works through surprises—these transition times, these transformative years, weave each thread of experience into a pattern of shining completeness, fulfillment, peace. As a Holy Day imprints the bleak circle of a year with meaning, so great moments in every lifespan mark it indelibly with direction and Divinity. Mary Ford-Grabowsky

Speak and Write What You See and Hear! And behold! In the forty-third year of my earthly course, as I was gazing with great fear and trembling attention at a heavenly vision, I saw a blazing light in which resounded a voice from heaven, saying to me: “O fragile human, dust to dust! Speak and write what you see and hear! And since you are timid in speaking, and simple in expressing, and untaught

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S P I R I T U A L

A N D

M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

in writing, speak and write these things not by shallow human understanding, and not by the rules and requirements of grammar, but as you see and hear them on high in the heavenly places, in the wonders of God.” Hildegard of Bingen, Germany, 1098–1179

Dangerous Prayers Deliver us, O God, O Truth, O Love, from quiet prayer from polite and politically correct language, from appropriate gesture and form and whatever else we think we must put forth to invoke or to praise You. Let us instead pray dangerously— wantonly, lustily, passionately. Let us demand with every ounce of our strength, let us storm the gates of heaven, let us shake up ourselves and our plaster saints from the sleep of years. Let us pray dangerously. Let us throw ourselves from the top of the tower, let us risk a descent to the darkest region of the abyss,

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let us put our head into the lion’s mouth and direct our feet to the entrance of the dragon’s cave. Let us pray dangerously. Let us not hold back a little portion, dealing out our lives—our precious minutes and our energies—like some efficient accountant. Let us rather pray dangerously—unsafe, profligate, wasteful! Let us ask for nothing less than the Infinite to ravage us. Let us ask for nothing less than annihilation in the Fires of Love. Let us not pray in holy half-measures nor walk the middle path for too long, but pray madly, foolishly. Let us be too ecstatic, let us be too overwhelmed with sorrow and remorse, let us be undone, and dismembered . . . and gladly. Left to our own devices, ah what structures of deceit we have created; what battlements erected, what labyrinths woven, what traps set for ourselves, and then fallen into. Enough. [152]

O U R

S P I R I T U A L

A N D

M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

Let us pray dangerously—hot prayer, wet prayer, fierce prayer, fiery prayer, improper prayer, exuberant prayer, drunken and completely unrealistic prayer. Let us say Yes, again and again and again. and Yes some more. Let us pray dangerously, the most dangerous prayer is Yes. Regina Sara Ryan

Clea—La Chanson de Ma Mie’ A soft honeyed bell has tolled Under the late autumn sky. The road of morning— Tall pines swathed in mist, Standing in reverie of stone and sea. The frosted limbs have caught the clouds But a moment in their journey, Becoming to your delight— Canopies of crimson glass Cast upon a dawn fire sea.

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Later, as though locked in dream— I watch you kneel down naked there, Opening your arms in astonishment, Naming it— This human feeling that bleeds In plain sight of the sea. Michelle Lynn Ryan

The silence is all there is. It is the alpha and the omega. It is God’s brooding over the face of the waters; it is the blended note of the ten thousand things, the whine of wings. You take a step in the right direction to pray to this silence, and even to address the prayer to “World.” Distinctions blur. Quit your tents. Pray without ceasing. Annie Dillard

Oh God, whose true nature I cannot know, You who are at once source and substance and sustenance of my life, I lift to you the rockhard pain I feel for this world —and my pain dissolves into love. I reach to the outer limits of my rational mind to comprehend this despairing Earth — and you call me back to my heart.

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S P I R I T U A L

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M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

I abandon myself into my aching heart — and it dissolves into the Heart of the Universe. In this mystery in which all I am sure of is nothing and all I can know is You, give me strength; give me wisdom; and give me love. Give me the courage and the resolve to be the nothing that I am alone, and to live wholly into the heart of this hurting world, which is You. Phoebe Phelps

With Your Light bathe us with the brilliance of your light like dew Source unknown

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When We Stumble and Find It We all have our favorite themes, the ones we say over and over in a thousand different tongues. Mine is the moment which changed my life forever. Not the one I planned for or expected, but the one which simply happened. It could have been a revelation speaking from a cloud of fire. It could have been a rare accomplishment, election descending like a dove after so many years. It was none of these. Merely a moment, the one I keep returning to, feeling along the wall for the hidden latch

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M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

which will spring open and reveal the undefined. Dorothy Walters

Mahakranti: The Endtime Vespers fall across the chessboard of a convent garden. A handful of goats upon the hillside, Turn from shadow to dark stone. The prayers of nuns, a phantom river seeking its course, As the Moon also dreams of Her worlds, The writings of stars and rivers, And the blood tides of earth, Returning to their point of departure. Life and Death are but twin blossoms upon a single stem. While morning and evening caress as middle-aged lovers, Unknown fires rage at the world’s rim. In the distance Lord Shiva begins to sing old Rumi’s song: “Creation, Destruction! I am dancing for them both!” Michelle Lynn Ryan

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Invocation to the Light, December 2001 On this holiday eve with the world poised at the precipice waiting to plunge or cross over I call upon all the angels of mercy who have ever shed a tear for the human race I call upon all the guardians of peace who have ever raised an olive branch or let fly a flock of doves I call upon all the mystics who have ever crossed a desert in search of the truth I call upon all who have journeyed to the underworld and returned with the wisdom of the dark I call upon all the ancestral spirits who know the pain of parting the veil I call upon the guardians of the four directions of the universe O East, O South, O West, O North help us to open our hearts to your weeping whispers I call upon the luminous, numinous Center of the orb O help us to embrace again the mystery of unknowing I call upon all the animal messengers who hold the secret of oneness I call upon all the faeries and sprites who dance in the forest I call upon the undines, the gnomes, the sylphs, and the salamanders

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S P I R I T U A L

A N D

M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

the oracles of the mountains and the sages of the springs I call upon the elves the pookas the djinns and the genies the heavenly nymphs the houris and peris the cherubim the seraphim the celestial choir the witches the magi the prophets the messiah saints and avatars paragons and virtues archangels in waiting wings, haloes, and music I call upon the three Fates the three Graces the nine Muses and the seven Sisters all the gods and goddesses of a thousand names and guises

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I call upon the Angel of the Abyss with the flame in his hand the Angel of Memory who knows where we’ve been the Angel of Truth the Angel of Hope the Angel of the Apocalypse who rides into the night O come to us now All forces of light help us find our way through the wilderness open our eyes to your sight Stephanie Marohn

I come in the little things Says the Lord. Evelyn Underhill

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S P I R I T U A L

A N D

M Y S T I C A L

E X P E R I E N C E

God Everywhere God to enfold us, God to surround us, God in our thinking, God in our speaking, God in our sleeping, God in our waking, God in our waiting, God in our hoping, God in our minds, God in our hearts, God in our lives, God in our deaths, God in our ever-living souls, God in our eternity. Celtic oral tradition

God is present in everything. Edith Sodergran, Finland, 1892–1923

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Beautiful One May You, fair as the moon the snow and the white jasmine, may You, seated on a white lotus in a white sari with a vina on your lap, may You. glorious Goddess Sarasvati adored by all the gods, may You shine your pure white light within me. Janine Canan

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E X P E R I E N C E

A Way In I see in my mind a little ball of golden light. I watch this light as it begins to grow larger and larger, until now it covers the entire inner vision of my mind. I see within this light a beautiful temple. I see a garden that surrounds the temple and a body of water that flows through the garden. I see that the inside of the temple is lit by this same beautiful golden light, and I am here, For I have been drawn here by the power and in the presence of God. I dedicate my days and my relationships and experiences to You. May Your Spirit, which is within me, so guide my thoughts, my feelings and my perceptions of all things That I might grow into a happier, more peaceful, more loving human being. Illumine my mind, illumine my life. Amen. Marianne Williamson

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A Thousand Ways The Beloved knows a thousand ways to enter your body. When you were young, she sent you a lover of flesh who stood near to awaken your nature. Now god is your unseen paramour arriving without notice on unexpected occasions. To discover her, turn gently, and follow your breath to the center of your being. Dorothy Walters

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1 0

Love F

and you held me and there were no words and there was no time and you held me and there was only wanting and being held and being filled with wanting and I was nothing but letting go and being held and there were no words and there needed to be no words and there was no terror only stillness and I was wanting nothing and it was fullness and it was like aching for God and it was touch and warmth and darkness and no time and no words and we flowed and I flowed and I was not empty and I was given up to the dark and in the darkness I was not lost and the wanting was like the fullness and I could hardly hold it and I was held and

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you were dark and warm and without time and without words and you held me Janet Morley

Black and White Blessing (for D., 1994) In this one you are standing with your arms around me. You are thirty-nine and I am nine years old, my hair long and escaping barrettes and ponytail, wildly, finely. Your beard and hair are dark, your glasses black-framed and very thick, your face mostly unlined; otherwise, it’s the you of now, there, twenty-three years ago, your eyes pouring their particular passion into the camera, your grin wide as mine, your arms and hands bare, stained with the work of turning fresh earth. Behind us stands the twig of an apricot tree, too thin to cast a shadow, and the bare yard waits for us, waits for the lush days of mulberry and lemon and birch, of grape arbors climbing, ping-pong games clipping the silence, birds’ nests, water lifting and collecting and planting the light, purple agapanthus, tomatoes, corn, peas, apricots

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split open in the sun, and those ladybug beetles that one spring chose to settle into a massive five-day congregation of feasting and flight. I feel your snug arms around me, loose and freeing, leaving space for me to grow beyond your shoulder, beyond, beyond, flying over the fence with the ease and sadness, the three-note joy of a redwing blackbird. That day, I do not remember that particular day, but it echoes in me anyway, with all the other ripening days, and I hear your voice, “I will love you, no matter where you go or what you do,” and I carry that voice in me as I carry the rhythm of skipping, as I carry the sobs and the play, snapping towels and taste of water, ache of growth and rip of grass, as I carry the arc of so many balls passing between us, arm to arm, fingertip to fingertip, through sun, ocean mist, evening of days and days, all those days packed roundly into the stridings and restings of my long body, into the very features of my face becoming more and more whatever hints and guesses hovered there in the shadowed curve of your well-used life. Christina Hutchins

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Balada He passes by with someone else. I have watched him go. Ever gentle was the wind, And the road ladden with grace. My eyes, my weary eyes Have watched him go. In a world of flowers, He falls in love with another. As the thorn comes into bloom, In a world of flowers A song passes by. He falls in love with another. On the sands, at the edge of the sea, He has kissed another. An orange blossom moon Rides upon the waves. And my blood did not anoint The ocean’s vastness. For all eternity, he will walk With another. There will be tranquil skies

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(God begs for silence.) For all eternity, he will walk With another! Gabriela Mistral, Chile, 1889–1957 Re-creation by Michelle Lynn Ryan

I am watching all the roads, I am thirsting for your love, O my beloved. Mahadevi, India, twelfth century

Between Words The trail to the ocean is steep. The grass we walked through, high and wet. I hear clear wind sighing through slender pine, silence between your words: that place your loneliness lives where I want to slip under, lie unbroken as stone. I know where your pulse quickens

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feels like water, too deep. I know you think you might fold into yourself as stars do, where words might not matter. This place you won’t go to let me hold you is where I have gone. Karen Benke

Do you ever wonder, old lover of mine, where so much love comes from? I wonder this often, because no matter how distressing the world is, wherever I am, there never seems to be a shortage of love. Is this true, as well, for you? Alice Walker

[170]

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And so it came . . . it slipped itself into my heart silently, imperceptibly, and I looked at it with wonder. It was still, small; a light-blue flame trembling softly, and it had the infinite sweetness of first love, like an offering of fragrant flowers made with gentle hands, the heart full of stillness and wonder and peace. “Love will be produced,” you had said. And since then I kept wondering how it will come to me. Will it be like the voice from the Burning Bush, the voice of God as Moses heard it? Will it be like a flash of lightning out of a blue sky making the world about me a blaze of glory? Or will it be . . . Love in general, Love for everything . . . ? . . . [I]t could not be so for me, to be able to surrender completely; to sweep away all resistance, it must be big, tremendous, complete; without reserve; without limit, the conditionless, absolute, forgetting oneself. But what I felt was not so. It was just a tender longing, so gentle, so full of infinite sweetness. Irina Tweedie, Russia, 1907–99

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A long time I have lived with you And now we must be going Separately to be together. Perhaps I shall be the wind To blur your smooth waters So that you do not see your face too much. Perhaps I shall be the star To guide your uncertain wings So that you have direction in the night. Perhaps I shall be the fire To separate your thoughts So that you do not give up. Perhaps I shall be the rain To open up the earth So that your seed may fall. Perhaps I shall be the snow To let your blossoms sleep So that you may bloom in spring. Perhaps I shall be the stream To play a song on the rock So that you are not alone. Perhaps I shall be a new mountain So that you always have a home. Nancy Wood

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First Passion Put it down gently; this toy is old, it has been handled by the eager-fingered children of all people. Each one is certain (s)he is the first to make it breathe. Each one is right. Maggie Tuteur

“One must go down, As far down as possible To find God,” I reasoned with an eighteen-year-old’s intensity. And God for me meant forgiveness, faith, love. Adapted from a prayer by Anita Mathias

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To Aphrodite All the while I prayed Our night would last Twice as long. Sappho, Greece, seventh century, B.C.E.

Who Will Teach Me Now? O, commemorate me where there is water—Patrick Kavanagh Wind tosses the waves into white caps, moves the clouds. A moon-high tide takes me along the estuary, to a place with sand. I lay a towel down, unpack the bag with a live lobster, a white candle, and the ceramic box holding your ashes. A sailboat across the bay, then two terns diving: I’d forgotten how to sit still. I light the candle, lift the cover: somehow I hear laughter.

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I wait, you don’t move in the wind. So I unbind the lobster’s claws, then lift the box spilling some of the ashes on his back. I watch him scuttle off into the water vanishing with you into the seaweed and eel grass. Happy day for you, don’t get caught this time. I empty the box above the high-tide line believing I could always find this exact spot and you among the shells and rocks. I beg mercy for I’d forgotten how I love this hard place, where you taught me how talk to God anywhere. Walking until there was no place for feet, I kneel there, dip my fingers and touch seawater to my forehead, my heart and each shoulder. I hear you singing loud and off key. Anne-Marie Madden Irwin

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The Soul in Love As the fish swims freely in the vastness of the seas, as the bird soars boldly in the vastness of the air, so I feel my spirit roaming free in the depths and heights and immensity of love. Beatrice of Nazareth, Brabant (Netherlands and Belgium), c.1200–68

My Book Was Begun in Love My book was begun in love, and must also end in love. For there is nothing so wise or holy, so beautiful or so strong, and so perfect as love. Mechtild of Magdeburg, Germany, c.1212–82

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You Have Come, My Beloved You have come, my beloved, The clouds are gone. The wind is silent. The sun appears, and the trees are green. Adapted from a poem by Tinh Thuy, Vietnam

No Words At All, Just Love* I will go on. I know that the states of Nearness will increase, will become more permanent but also that the state of separation will become more painful, more lonely the nearer I come to Reality. This I cannot avoid; it belongs to this school of training. And it does not matter anymore. The memory of nearness to you will remain and will give me strength to go on. I know I go back to a life of fire; for you, my dear, before accepting me, you told me what to expect. And I said, Yes! and sealed my destiny. I know health will fail me sometimes, I know I will be burned, and it will not matter, for always, always, I will remember that I belong . . . and that will give me strength to go on. . . . * Written shortly after the death of her spiritual teacher

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Last night I prayed but there were no words . . . just love, immense, no end of it. I have not prayed for anything lately. There is stillness. A strange happiness, but no words at all. Just love, and love, and love, non-ending, and infinitely serene. Irina Tweedie, Russia, 1907–99

Mira Speaks to Her Lord Mira says: Dark One, Come to my bedroom. I’ve scattered fresh buds on the couch, perfumed my body. Birth after birth I am your servant, sleep only with you. Mirabai, India, 1498–c.1550

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A Dying Grandfather’s Prayer I will watch over you, I will bless those who bless you. Rachel Naomi Remen

To Be an Island in the Sea And now, may kindly Columba guide you to be an island in the sea, a hill on the shore, a star in the night, a staff for the weak. Amen. Scotland, Gaelic oral tradition, first millennium?

In this still moment, Lord, I thank You for this second chance. I accept all that has gone before. I pledge myself to this new love. Help me to honor our experiences in the past,

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and all our differences. Help me to trust that we have learned from our mistakes And will enrich our lives Together and apart, learning from one another, learning from sorrow and joy, from sickness and health, from acquiring and letting go. Thank you for all this love. Thank you for all that went before, the happiness and the pain. Thank you for this blessing. May it be the sacred center of our lives For the rest of our days. Anonymous, New Zealand

Cold The white floor, the white back splash give back light to the honey-colored cabinets and the scatter rugs.

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My blue kettle over a blue flame almost to the boil, the cat insists on canned food, her Siamese cry. Your letter arrived yesterday, air-mail edge, Mexican stamps. Written in Spanish, I tried to find my way through the caminos but stumbled on the reflexives, lost you to the subjunctive. Why didn’t you call? I want to climb into your voice. I’d have told you how the sky dropped fifteen inches of snow yesterday. How I dug out the cars, a pathway to the mailbox, a labyrinth in the garden. Each filled shovel heavier than the last, until my arms could no longer feel your absence. The ache moved out from my chest

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to shoulders, hipbone and thighs. With your letter laid down, beneath my pillow, I slept without remembered dreams. Anne-Marie Madden Irwin

I Am My Beloved’s I am My Beloved’s And he is mine. Come my beloved, Let us go forth into the field; And lodge in the villages. Let us go up early to the vineyards; Let us see whether the vine has budded, Whether the grape has opened, And the pomegranates are in bloom; There will I give thee my love. The mandrakes give forth fragrance, And at the door are all manner of precious fruits, new and old Which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved. Anonymous woman’s prayer from the Song of Songs 7.10–13

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All She Needed That Day Email to my husband The nurse held her at the kitchen sink while I shampooed your mother’s hair, I wanted to color it for her. Your mother told me over coffee, when she was young she did too much, her heart raced. She was running the factory with your father, four children and politics. When a doctor ordered her to slow down she asked how and he replied, What is it you like that you’re not doing?

She wished she had time for her hair. So he wrote her a prescription: Once a week go to the hairdresser. Forty years she followed his order.

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With her head in my hands, her closed eyes sat deep in their sockets, and knew she was dying. But as suds swirled down the drain, we laughed, a giggle women share in kitchens out of male earshot, when children sleep. She sat down, her chest heaving she leaned into me, a towel swaddled her head— you should have seen her face, just then. Anne-Marie Madden Irwin

To what shall I liken you, Lord? to the dove that feeds its little ones, to a tender mother who nourishes her child. Mariam Baouardy, France, 1846–78

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I N D E X A U T H O R S A N D

Akhmatova, Anna, 58 Anandamayi Ma, 17 Andal, 47, 58, 74 Angelou, Maya, 22 Anonymous, Anglican, 96, 97, 110 Anonymous, Buddhist, 81 Anonymous, Celtic, 60, 104, 114, 140, 161 Anonymous, Japan, 79 Anonymous, Jewish, 51, 101 Anonymous, Mohawk, 112 Anonymous, Native American, 108 Anonymous, Navajo, 69 Anonymous, New Zealand, 179 Anonymous, Scotland, 179 Anonymous, Song of Songs, 182 Ashwin, Angela, 81 Auberle, Sharon, 84, 86 Baez, Joan, 109 Baker, Rosalind M., 58 Baouardy, Miriam, 184 Beatrice of Nazareth, 176 Benke, Karen, 135, 169 Bernard, Mary, 115 Bernos de Gasztold, Carmen, 73 Boerstler, Linda S., 136 Brigid of Kildare Abbey, 78, 118

O F S O U R C E S

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 65, 73 Burgess, Ruth, 148 Cabrera de Armida, Concepcion, 124 Caddy, Eileen, 121 Canan, Janine, 162 Carlson, Patricia, 35 Cessna, H.M., Margaret, 14 Changing Woman, 86 Clare of Assisi, 105 Colt, Lisa, 6 Compston, Kate, 48 Craighead, Meinrad, 72 Davidson, Fiona, 144 Dillard, Annie, 154 Dove, Rita, 19 Erdrich, Louise, 62 Falk, Marcia, 17 Fogelman, Ruth, 101, 131 Ford-Grabowsky, Mary, 149 Furlong, Monica, 125 Gately, Edwina, 140 Gertrude of Helfta, 105 Gibson, Barbara, 82, 127 Gidlow, Elsa, 38 Gonzalez, Maria Cristina, 87 Griffin, Susan, 71

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Harjo, Joy, 58 Harris, Bishop Barbara Clementine, 95 Hathaway, Jeanine, 36 Hildegard of Bingen, 48, 71, 120, 150 Hillesum, Etty, 132 Hillman, Anne, 63 Hinton, Pat Corrick, 114 Hirshfield, Jane, 4, 12, 46, 115 Hobday, José, 1, 63, 69 Hokanson, Alicia, 70 Holmes, Marjorie, 26 Hooley, Teresa, 68 Hutchins, Christina, 23, 107, 166 Irwin, Anne-Marie Madden, 28, 129, 174, 180, 183 Ishpriya, RSCJ, 18 Julian of Norwich, 99 Kassiane, 134 Kaza, Stephanie, 45, 52 Keller, Helen, 10, 104 Kroll, Judy, 34, 57 Lalleshwari, 6 Lamott, Anne, 117 L’Engle, Madeleine, 148 Levertov, Denise, 11, 14, 67 Lowinsky, Naomi Ruth, 31, 38, 145 Mahadevi, 61, 144, 169 Marohn, Stephanie, 158 Mathias, Anita, 92, 173 McAdam, Rhona, 20 McAfee, Betty, 33, 119 Mechtild of Magdeburg, 2, 52, 176

Medical Mission Sisters, 76 Milner, Marion, 47 Mirabai, 178 Mistral, Gabriela, 168 Molodowsky, Kadya, 62 Morley, Janet, 127, 165 Mother Teresa of Calcutta, 84, 94 Mountain Dreamer, Oriah, 7, 54 Moyer, Linda Lancione, 5 Nandutarra, 12 Norris, Kathleen, 27 Nye, Naomi Shihab, 80, 125, 130 O’Brien, Andrea, 29 Olds, Sharon, 30 Oliver, Mary, 74 Owl Woman, 72 Partridge, Rosemary, 113 Penfold, Nita, 100 Pepper, Alison, 3 Phelps, Phoebe, 154 Raphael, Rabbi Geela Rayzel, 29 Rashani, 141 Remen, Rachel Naomi, 67, 179 Rose of Lima, 25 Ryan, Michelle Lynn, 153, 157 Ryan, Regina Sara, 133, 151 Sappho, 174 Sarton, May, 6, 100 Scott, Maylie, 89 Seltzer, Joanne, 56 Sexton, Megan, 22 Sheaffer, M.P.A., 75

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O F

Sodergran, Edith, 161 Source unknown, 37, 155 Starhawk, 49 Steckel, Jan, 94, 103 Steinbeck, Nancy, 77 Ten Boom, Corrie, 54 Teresa of Avila, 59, 102, 109, 139 Thuy, Tinh, 177 Tuteur, Maggie, 10, 25, 173 Tweedie, Irina, 171, 177 Underhill, Evelyn, 160

A U T H O R S

A N D

S O U R C E S

Walker, Alice, 170 Walters, Dorothy, 11, 132, 143, 155, 164 Webber, Christine Lore, 123 Weil, Simone, 46, 68 Weinberger, Florence, 37 Wiederkehr, Macrina, 2 Willard, Nancy, 91 Williamson, Marianne, 13, 163 Winter, Miriam Therese, 137 Wood, Nancy, 66, 172

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I N D E X O F O R F I R S T

35/10, 30 A Cedary Fragrance, 46 A Dying Grandfather’s Prayer, 179 A long time I have lived with you, 172 A Pediatrician’s Prayer for Perfection, 94 A Prayer for Spiritual Teachers, 77 A Thousand Ways, 164 A vein of sapphires, 61 A Way In, 163 A Zen Prayer for Preparing a Meal: How to Stuff a Pepper, 91 All She Needed That Day, 183 All you clear and shimmering waters, 114 and how could anyone, 74 And so it came, 171 and you held me, 165 As a silkworm weaves, 144 As I light these Sabbath candles, 51 Balada, 168 Be Who You Are, 17 Beautiful One, 162 Between Words, 169 Black and White Blessing, 166 Blessed Are You, 14 Bodhi, 133 Bonsai, 12

T I T L E S L I N E S

Breakdown, 58 Brigid’s Feast, 78 Buddhist Vow, 52 Celtic Thanksgiving, 114 Chains of Fire, 38 Clea—La Chanson de Ma Mie’, 153 Cleaning Rice, 101 Cold, 180 Consecration, 29 Cost of Living, 28 Dangerous Prayers, 151 Dear God, it is so hard, 125 Different Ways to Pray, 80 Doing the Best We Can, 104 Do you ever wonder, 170 Dying at 31, 25 Earth is crammed with heaven, 73 Earth Teach Me, 66 Enter and penetrate, 148 Faithfulness, 109 Fire in Water, 144 First Passion, 173 For the 500th Dead Palestinian: Ibtisam Bozieh, 130 For the Darkness, 110 For Victims of War and Refugees, 127

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From moment to moment, 139 From Self-Consciousness to Happiness, 47 Gestalt at Sixty, 6 Gift from My Mother, 33 Give Me Someone, 79 Give Thanks for Everything, 121 Go Forward Securely, 105 God Alone Suffices, 59 God Everywhere, 161 God is present, 161 God Our Mother, Living Water, 76 Grace for My Twenty-Fifth Year, 10 Gratitude, 113 Handicaps, 10 Help in Old Age from the Mother, 82 His Heart Shone Right Out of His Eyes, 62 How can you go on sleeping, 58 How Could I Reject Who I Am?, 2 How shall I begin my song, 72 How Should I Fear to Die?, 68 I Am My Beloved’s, 182 I am watching all the roads, 169 I Arise Today, 118 I come in the little things, 160 I Have So Much I Can Teach Her, 22 I know I am made from this earth, 71 I saw God in an instant of time, 99 I saw you in the doorway, 137 I Taught Myself to Live Simply, 58 I think everything and everyone slept that afternoon, 72 I Was Obsessed, 12

In Pain, 52 In the Cemetery of Your City: Israel, March 6, 2002, 131 In the morning, 136 In this still moment, Lord, 179 Invocation to the Light, December 2001, 158 It is by seeking, 17 Kalighat, 92 Lament for September 11, 2001, 127 Learning to Grow, 48 Letting Go, 45 Life in Ravensbruck, 54 Listen, 5 Litany of Blessing for a Woman Taking Authority, 97 Litany of Sorrow for Denying Women Authority, 96 Lord of all the world, 101 Lord of Healing, 3 Lord, not you, 14 Magnificat, 107 Mahakranti: The Endtime, 157 Make us ready, Lord, 84 May I be free from danger, 81 May the angel of God make smooth the road, 140 May the Blessing of Rain Be on You, 60 May there always be work, 104 May you be drenched with the longing for peace, 48 Metta Prayer, 89

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O F

T I T L E S

Mira Speaks to Her Lord, 178 Moments of Real Grace, 54 Mother of Mothers, 38 Mother Wisdom Speaks, 123 My Book Was Begun in Love, 176 My Lord, Lord of the mountain grove, 74 My Poems, 100 No Words At All, Just Love, 177 Not Without Longing, 135 O Lord, One tiny bit of water, 18 Oh God, whose true nature I cannot know, 154 Oh, God, thank you for the child I carry, 26 One must go down, 173 Open our eyes to see our own part, 81 Order of Melchizedek, 11 Our deepest fear, 13 Passing the Refugee Camp, 125 Pastoral, 19 Play in this universe, 63 Praise to You Spirit of Fire, 120 Prayer, 6 Prayer Before Work, 100 Prayer for a Child While Listening to Rachmaninoff, 86 Prayer for Beauty, 86 Prayer for Easy Labor, 29 Prayer for Village Earth, 84 Prayer for Wellness, 87 Prayer from Auschwitz, 132 Prelude to the Dance, 7 Preparing to Greet the Goddess, 143

O R

F I R S T

L I N E S

Psalms of a Laywoman, 140 Purnima, 57 Radiating Pain, 103 Self-Giving, 46 Source, 25 Sow in me your living breath, 62 Speak and Write What You See and Hear!, 150 Spiritual Life, 71 Thank You, 117 Thank you, my dear, 115 The Boston School of Cooking Cookbook, 20 The desert waits, 148 The Flowers, 119 The Great Work, 105 The Holy may speak to you, 67 The Last Story, 49 The little cares, 65 The Meaning of Bones, 22 The Monk Stood Beside a Wheelbarrow, 4 The mountain, 69 The Next Day: 9/12/01, 129 The Power in My Mother’s Arms, 37 The Prayer of the Cat, 73 The Sacred Berry, 69 The Sacredness of Time, 149 The Sapphire, 67 The Seven Directions, 63 The silence is all there is, 154 The Soul in Love, 176 The Stars, 68

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The Tablecloth, 23 The Truth About Myself, 2 The Turning Point, 36 The Way of the Three Steps: A Native American Way to Begin the Day, 1 The Well, 11 Theology, 115 There is a Brokenness, 141 This Island, This Season, 70 Three times each day, 47 Ti Prego, 75 To Aphrodite, 174 To Be an Island in the Sea, 179 to dance at your daughter’s wedding, 31 To Elvira, My Maternal Grandmother, 35 To Jacqueline, Age 2, in Her GreatGrandmother’s House, 27 To Our First Grandmother, 112 To Sing Is to Praise, 109

To what shall I liken you, Lord?, 184 Too Much to Do, 102 Troparion, 134 Unexpected Blessings, 108 We see you, 58 What Came to Me, 37 What Is Happening?, 132 What Must I Do?, 95 When We Stumble and Find It, 155 Who Will Teach Me Now?, 174 Why Do You Hide Yourself?, 124 Wild longing in my eyes, 6 With Your Light, 155 Women Who Light Lives, 56 you, 145 You Can Also Pray While You Work, 94 You Have Come, My Beloved, 177 Your Clothes, 34

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P E R M I S S I O N S A N D A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

Ballantine Books, New York, NY, for an excerpt from “Letting Go” by Stephanie Kaza in The Attentive Heart: Conversation with Trees, copyright © 1993 by Stephanie Kaza. Beacon Press, Boston, MA, for an excerpt from Voices of the Matriarchs edited by Chava Weissler, copyright © 1998 by Chava Weissler; for an excerpt from “Prayer” by Lisa Colt, copyright © by Elizabeth H. Colt, from Claiming the Spirit Within: A Sourcebook of Women’s Poetry edited by Marilyn Sewell, copyright ©1996 by Marilyn Sewell. Bloodaxe Books, Tarset, Northumberland, England, for an excerpt from “I Taught Myself to Live Simply” by Anna Akhmatova from Selected Poems by Anna Akhmatova translated by Richard McKane, copyright © 1989 by Richard McKane. The Buddhist Peace Fellowship, Berkeley, CA, for “Metta Prayer” by Maylie Scott in Turning Wheel: the Journal of Socially Engaged Buddhism Calyx Books, Corvallis, OR, for an excerpt from “The Power In My Mother’s Arms” by Florence Weinberger from Women and Aging: An Anthology by Women edited by Jo Alexander et al, copyright © 1986 by Calyx Books. “Calyx: A Journal of Art and Literature” Vol. 14, No. 3 (Summer, 1993) for an excerpt from “The Meaning of Bones” by Megan Sexton. Janine Canan for “Beautiful One,” and translation of “The Stars” by Simone Weil. Jonathan Cape Ltd., London, England, for “You have made me so rich” from The Diaries of Etty Hillesum 1941–1943 by Etty Hillesum, translation of Otto Pomerans copyright © 1983 by Otto Pomerans. Christian Aid, London, England, for “For Victims of War and Refugees” by Janet Morley from Companions of God by Janet Morley, copyright © 1994 by Janet Morley. Christianity and Crisis, March 3, 1986, for kind permission to reprint “Listen” by Linda Lancione Moyer, copyright © Christianity and Crisis 537 W. 121st St., New York, NY 10027.

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Element Books, Shaftesbury, Dorset, England, for an excerpt from Chasm of Fire by Irina Tweedie, copyright © Irina Tweedie. Findhorn Press, Findhorn, Scotland, for “Give Thanks for Everything” by Eileen Caddy, in Opening Doors Within, by Eileen Caddy, copyright © 1986 by Eileen Caddy. Reprinted by permission of Findhorn Press, Findhorn, Scotland. Ruth Fogelman, Jerusalem 97601, 2 Ararat St, Israel Tel. 972–628–7359, for permission to reprint “Cleaning Rice” and “In the Cemetery of Your City: Israel, March 6, 2002.” Greenwillow Books (An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers, New York, NY, for excerpts from 19 Varieties of Gazelle: Poems of the Middle East by Naomi Shihab Nye, copyright © 1994, 1995, 1998, 2002 by Naomi Shihab Nye. Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc., Charlottesville, VA, for “Preparing to Greet the Goddess” from Unmasking the Rose: A Record of a Kundalini Initiation by Dorothy Walters, copyright © 2002 by Dorothy Walters. Reprinted by kind permission of the author. Joy Harjo, for an excerpt from “Eagle Poem” from In Mad Love and War by Joy Harjo, Wesleyan University Press, copyright © 1990 by Joy Harjo. Harmony Books, New York, NY, for “Waiting to Heal” by Corrine De Winter and “Consecration” by Andrea O’Brien from Mothers and Daughters: A Poetry Celebration by June Cotner, copyright © 2001 by June Cotner. HarperCollins Publishers, New York, NY, for “A Cedary Fragrance” by Jane Hirshfield from Given Sugar, Given Salt by Jane Hirshfield, copyright © 2000 by Jane Hirshfield; for “Troparion” by Kassiane translated by Liana Sakelliou, an excerpt from Andal, and “A Vein of Sapphires,” translated by Jane Hirshfield from Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women edited by Jane Hirshfield, copyright © 1994 by Jane Hirshfield; for “Prelude” from The Dance: Moving to the Rhythms of Your True Self, by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, copyright © 2001 by Mountain Dreaming Productions, Inc; for an excerpt from The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, copyright © 1999 by Oriah Mountain Dreamer; for an excerpt from Seasons of Your Heart: Prayers and Reflections by Macrina Wiederkehr, copyright © 1991 by Macrina Wiederkehr; for an excerpt from “Our deepest fear” by Marianne Williamson in Return to Love, copyright © 1992 by Marianne Williamson; for an excerpt from “The Last Story” in Truth or Dare by Miriam Simos, copyright © 1987 by Miriam Simos. Reprinted by permission of the author.

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A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA, The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press for “I saw no Way” from The Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Tomas H. Johnson, copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. “Heartbeats: Networking Women, Developing World, and Minority Artists,” A Ministry of the Sisters of the Humility of Mary, 20015 Detroit Rd., Cleveland, OH 22116, for the series of five prayers, “Blessed Are You” by Margaret Cessna, H. M. For a catalogue, e-mail at [email protected]. Tel. 440–356–8601. Reprinted by kind permission of Heartbeats. Pat Corrick Hinton, for an excerpt from “All You Clear and Shimmering Waters,” in Prayers for Growing and Other Pains, HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., copyright © 1994 by Pat Corrick Hinton. Jane Hirshfield, for kind permission to reprint “Bonsai,” “Theology,” and “The Monk Stood Beside a Wheelbarrow.” Hohm Press, Prescott, AZ, for “A Thousand Ways,” “When We Stumble and Find It,” “Order of Melchizedek,” and “What Is Happening” from Marrow of Flame: Poems of the Spiritual Journey by Dorothy Walters, copyright © 2000 by Dorothy Walters; and for “Bodhi” and “Dangerous Prayers” from Praying Dangerously: Radical Reliance on God by Regina Sara Ryan, copyright © 2001 by Regina Sara Ryan. Alicia Hokanson, for “This Island, this Season.” “iris: A Journal About Women,” Vol. 13 (Summer, 1993), Charlottesville, VA, for “The Boston School of Cooking Cookbook” by Rhona McAdam, copyright © 1993 by Iris. Jeevan-Dhara Ashram Society, Jaihari Khal, Garhwal Himalayas, “O Lord, One tiny bit of water,” by Ishpriya, RSCJ, in Kalkalnadini (The Singing of the Stream), copyright © 1984 by Ishpriya, RSCJ. Lyn Klug, for excerpts from Soul Weavings: A Gathering of Women’s Prayers edited by Lyn Klug, copyright © 1996 by Lyn Klug. Liveright Publishing Company, for “A Zen Prayer for Preparing a Meal: How to Stuff a Pepper “ by Nancy Willard from Carpenter of the Sun: Poems by Nancy Willard, copyright © 1974 by Nancy Willard. Used by permission of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Medical Mission Sisters, for “God Our Mother, Living Water.” Marion Milner, for “From Self-Consciousness to Happiness.” New Directions Publishing Corp., for an excerpt from “The Well” in Breathing the Water by Denise Levertov, copyright © 1982, 1987 by Denise Levertov.

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New Society Publishers, for an excerpt from “Prayer” from A Shallow Pool of Time by Fran Peavey, copyright ©1988 by Fran Peavey. W. W. Norton, New York, NY, for “Pastoral” by Rita Dove from Grace Notes, copyright © 1989 by Rita Dove; for an excerpt from Wise Women by Susan Cahill, copyright © 1996 by Susan Cahill; for an excerpt from Collected Poems1930–1973 by May Sarton, copyright ©1974 by May Sarton. Perennial (An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers), New York, NY, for an excerpt from The Antelope Wife by Louise Erdrich, copyright © 1998 by Louise Erdrich. Rabbinical Assembly of America and United Synagogue of America, New York, NY, for an excerpt from Siddur Sim Shalom: A Prayer Book for Shabbat, Festivals, and Weekdays edited and translated by Jules Harlow, copyright © 1985 by Jules Harlow. Riverhead Books (division of G. P. Putnam’s Sons; Penguin Putnam, Inc.), New York, NY, for “the Holy may speak to you” in My Grandfather’s Blessings: Stories of Refuge, Strength, and Belonging by Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D., copyright © 2000 by Rachel Naomi Remen. Michelle Lynn Ryan, for permission to reprint “Clea—La Chanson de Ma Mie,’” Mahakranti: The Endtime,” and her re-creation of Gabriela Mistral’s poem, “Balada” from From the Minarets of the Heart: Selected Poems 1968–2001 by Michelle Lynn Ryan, copyright © 2002 by Michelle Lynn Ryan. Scarlet Tanager Books, Oakland, CA, for “you,” “Mother of Mothers,” and “to dance at your daughter’s wedding” from Red Clay Is Talking by Naomi Ruth Lowinsky, copyright © 2000 by Naomi Ruth Lowinsky. M.P.A. Schaeffer for Ti Prego, copyright © 2002 by M.P.A. Schaeffer. Joanne Seltzer, for “Women Who Light Lives.” Shambhala Publications, Inc., Boston, MA, for an excerpt from Heaven’s Face Thinly Veiled: A Book of Spiritual Writing by Women edited by Sarah Anderson, copyright © 1996 by Sarah Anderson. SPCK publishers, London, England, for “and you held me” and “For the Darkness of Waiting” from All Desires Known: Inclusive Prayers for Worship and Meditation by Janet Morley, copyright © 1992 by Janet Morley. The Golden Sufi Center, Inverness, CA, for an excerpt from Daughter of Fire: A Diary of a Spiritual Training with a Sufi Master by Irina Tweedie, copyright © 1986 by The Golden Sufi Center UK Charitable Trust.

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United Reformed Church, England, for “Learning to Grow” by Kate Compston from Encounters, The Prayer Handbook, copyright © 1988 by the United Reformed Church. University of California Press, Berkeley, CA, for Fragment #46 “Thank you, my dear,” from Sappho: A New Translation tr. by Mary Bernard, copyright ©1958 by Mary Barnard. Reprinted with permission of University of California Press. Marianne Williamson for “A Way In.” Nancy Wood for “A long time I have lived with you” from Many Winters, Doubleday & Co., a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc., copyright © 1974 by Nancy Wood. Zodervan Publishers, for “and you held me” by Janet Morley, “Lord of Healing” by Alison Pepper, “For Victims of War and Refugees” by Janet Morley, and “Open our eyes to see our own part” by Angela Ashwin from The Book of a Thousand Prayers, compiled by Angela Ashwin, copyright © 1996 by Angela Ashwin; permission of Zodervan Publishers, Grand Rapids, MI. Extensive efforts, including Internet searches, have been made to find copyright holders of the material in this book. If any errors have occurred, the editor apologizes and would be grateful to know so that corrections may be made in future editions.

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A B O U T

T H E

E D I T O R

Mary Ford-Grabowsky is an award-wining writer, teacher, and scholar with a specialty in the world’s mystical traditions. She taught in the religious studies department at Regis College and was editor-in-chief of the international journal Fellowship in Prayer for which she received the World Council of Church’s ecumenical award for distinguished service in interfaith work. Her publications include many academic and inspirational articles and six books, among them the highly acclaimed Sacred Voices: Essential Women’s Wisdom Through the Ages (HarperSanFrancisco, 2002), a One Spirit Book Club selection. The recipient of a master of divinity degree and a doctorate in theology and spirituality from Princeton Theological Seminary, she also studied at the National University of Mexico and the University of Bonn, Germany, conducting research in eight languages: German, French, Spanish, Italian, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, in addition to English. Ford-Grabowsky has extensive experience on the East and West coasts as a lecturer, workshop leader, and radio and TV speaker, and today is actively engaged in research on women’s writings in the world’s religious and mystical traditions. She is married and the mother of a daughter.

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About the Author MARY FORD-GRABOWSKY is the author of Sacred Voices. She is a teacher and scholar of mysticism who holds a doctorate in theology and spirituality from Princeton Theological Seminary. She has taught in the Religious Studies Department at Regis College in Denver and was editor-in-chief of Sacred Journey, the journal of Fellowship in Prayer, in Princeton. She has been the vice-president and academic dean of the University of Creation Spirituality in Oakland, California, and today serves on the adjunct faculty and is an active member of the board of trustees Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

Credits Illustration: Stefano Vitale

Copyright WOMAN PRAYERS: Prayers by Women Throughout History and Around the World. Copyright © 2003 by Mary Ford-Grabowsky. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader October 2007 ISBN 978-0-06-155733-0 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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